


Time's Children

by ShoshanaSpring



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Dark Harry, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 112,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8387956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShoshanaSpring/pseuds/ShoshanaSpring
Summary: Tom Riddle has been trapped in a diary for 50 years and now that he is out, he has a lot of work to do. Harry learns a new prophecy that will change his path forever. It is up to Severus Snape and Hermione Granger to find a way to save the kidnapped boy-who-lived, but is Snape even really trying? Meanwhile, Remus Lupin is out of a job and living with a new pack. Can Sirius convince him he isn't an evil kidnapping murderer?  (Harry didn't defeat Riddle in the second year.  Sirius Black really was a death eater and manages to capture Harry in the third year. Dark Harry, Dark Sirius TR/HP, RL/SB)





	1. Prologue: The Chamber and the Shack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explores two major changes to the canon: 1) Harry is defeated in the Chamber of Secrets and a 16-year-old Tom Riddle is set loose on an unsuspecting world. 2) Sirius Black really was a death eater and successfully captures Harry in the Shrieking Shack.

Ron looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. He had never tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by magic, and now didn't seem a good moment to try - what if the whole tunnel caved in?

There was another thud and another "ow!" from behind the rocks. They were wasting time. Ginny had already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours ...

"Wait there," Harry called to Ron. "Wait with Lockhart. I'll go on... If I'm not back in an hour. . ." There was a very pregnant pause.

Ron wanted to protest. It was his sister after all, not Harry's. Harry may be the boy who lived, but if someone was going to save Ginny, it should be him. Then again, with no wand and without Harry's unique gift of parseltongue, what use would he be to his sister? It had to be Harry. He just hoped that Harry would be as lucky this year as he had been last year. "I'll try and shift some of this rock," said Ron, trying to keep his voice steady and not let his resentment shine through. "So you can - can get back through. And, Harry -"

"See you in a bit," said Harry, he seemed to be trying to inject some confidence into his shaking voice.

~.~

Harry approached his throat very dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive.

He could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

"Open," said Harry, in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry, shaking from head to foot, walked inside.

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chilling silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?

He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off stone floors. Harry kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of his stomach, he thought he saw one stir.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue as high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above. It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, face down, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming, red hair.

"Ginny!" Harry cried, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. "Ginny - don't be dead - please don't be dead-" He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then, she must be...

"Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

"She won't wake," said a soft voice.

Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.

"Tom - Tom Riddle?"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's… not - she's not- ?"

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just."

Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood; a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.

"A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there - but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"You've got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising Ginny's head again. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk... I don't know where it is, but it could be along at any moment ... Please, help me"

Riddle didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor and bent to pick up his wand again.

But his wand had gone. "Did you see -?"

He looked up. Riddle was still watching him - twirling Harry's wand between his long fingers.

"Thanks," said Harry, stretching out his hand for it.

A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly. This boy that Ginny told him so much about seriously thought he would just give him back his wand? He just spent 50 years in the total sensory deprivation, a solitary life trapped inside a diary. He had finally regained a physical form, and now he had a wand. Here in front of him was the boy wonder who Ginny claimed was the cause of his future self's defeat. Tom looked him up and down. How was this scrawny, seemingly normal child capable of bringing down a Dark Lord? He didn't even seem capable of understanding the danger he was currently in.

"Listen," said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny's dead weight. "We've got to go! If the basilisk comes- "

"It won't come until it is called," said Riddle calmly. "and I don't plan on calling it. I would love to finally get to talk with you Harry, but there isn't time."

Harry let Ginny's body slump to the ground, her weight too much for him to bear any longer. "What do you mean you don't plan on calling it? How did Ginny get like this?"

Riddle looked him up and down again. There really was no explaining how this clueless boy was supposedly capable of so much. Ginny had told him how he had defeated his future self a year prior. It couldn't be possible. And yet ... There was something about him. He could feel something. A humming. But there wasn't time. He was in Hogwarts. Dumbledore was here. If Harry had gotten into the Chamber, he couldn't possibly have been stupid enough to come down here alone. Someone would find them. He didn't have time. "Another time, Harry. Someday I'll explain everything... Stupefy!"

Harry's body slumped to the ground next to Ginny's dying form. Tom stood there for a while watching as Ginny's body slowly faded. It seemed that as he himself became more solid, more tangible, more real, more alive... She was losing corporeal form. Would she go into the diary? Would she be trapped like he had been?

Minutes ticked by painfully slowly. Tom waited until Ginny's body had completely disappeared. He bent down and closed the diary, leaving it on the ground. Harry was still unconscious on the stone floor. Tom turned to the great stone statue of Salazar and walked to a small door between its ankles. "Open," he hissed. The stone door slid away, revealing a narrow passage that led under the lake and out beyond Hogwarts' wards.

After 50 years of imprisonment, he was finally free, and the only thing he wanted to do was make up for lost time. He twirled his newly acquired wand in his right hand as a smirk spread across his face. He had work to do.

~.~

Ron watched as Harry went on past the great snakeskin and shortly after he could no longer hear him.

Ron started busying himself by clearing rocks out of the way. It proved to be much harder than he had first imagined. As soon as he moved one rock, another rock fell down into the place the first had been. Instead of simply removing the boulders he endeavored to construct an archway. He failed several times before he managed to make a doorway big enough for him to fit through.

Lockhart wasn't much help. The bumbling idiot tore down his construction multiple times in a halfhearted attempt to help the total stranger that he saw in Ron.

The minutes passed like hours. Ron attempted to cast a time spell several times but his useless wand proved to be more trouble than it was worth. How long had they been down here? How long had Harry been in the chamber? Had it been an hour? Had it been two? Should he leave the bumbling moron behind and go off in some half-cocked attempt to save Harry and his sister?

He was starting to make some progress. He had made a whole large enough to shimmy through. Well… Large enough for Ron to shimmy through. He would have to leave Lockhart behind. It would serve him right to be eaten by the damned snake.

Ron kept up his efforts, clearing the boulders as best as he could to make the whole as large as possible. When he couldn't stand waiting anymore. When he couldn't stand Lockhart anymore, he decided to risk it. After all, he would only blame himself if his sister and his best friend were dead in there and he had just sat here waiting like a child for someone else to rescue them. He was a lion of Gryffindor house after all wasn't he? Why was he lacking the bravery that was the characteristic of his house?

Ron slipped through the rocks, their jagged edges slicing his robes as he crawled through on his belly. It surely had been well over an hour. Had it been three? Where they dead? It seemed unrealistic to think that they could still be alive after all this time. They were in there with the Heir of Slytherin after all. Who knew who it was, or what insane, murderous plot he had working for them.

Ron emerged on the other side of the rocks bleeding slightly but no much worse for wear.

The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Ron's body was tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did. Where they dead? The question kept bubbling to the surface of his mind and no matter how hard he fought to keep it down... And then, at last, as he crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

They were parted allowing for a small opening between them just large enough for someone to slip through. Ron imagined that they must've been closed before Harry opened them.

Ron was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

His heart beating very fast, Ron stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? Where was Ginny? Harry?

And then he saw Harry, lying unconscious on the stone floor next to a small black book. He rushed to his friend's side. Ron knelt down next to him. He was at first terrified that he was dead, but when he got closer he saw that his chest was rising and falling as he took in air. He searched for Harry's wand, not wanting to risk waking him with his own. When he couldn't find it he resorted to shaking him violently like a muggle.

"Come on mate! Wake up! What happened? Where is Gin?" He asked the sleeping form of his friend.

It took much longer than Ron would have liked, but he finally woke his friend.

"Tom?" Was the first word out of the dark haired boy's lips.

"Ron," he corrected. "Harry, what happened? Where is Gin?"

"She..." He looked around wildly. "She was here! Ron, she was right here! She was asleep, or unconscious... Tom... He must have knocked me out."

"What?! Who?"Ron asked in disbelief.

"Tom Riddle, from the diary. Genny has been talking to him for months." Harry explained.

"No. No. Where is she? " Ron asked not wanting to believe Harry. His dad had always warned them against any magical artifact that could talk. Genny knew better than this. What had she done? What had he failed to protect his little sister from? Where was she? His eyes fell down on the diary laying next to Harry.

"I don't know," Harry said very sadly.

"Right. She's not here. Let's… Look around for her." Ron said distractedly clambering up so that he was standing again. He made to walk off to search the chamber.

Harry sat up and grabbed ahold of his wrist. He looked down at the diary next to him.

"No," Ron said flatly.

"Tom was real Ron. He was standing over her watching her. She was so pale." Harry said in a quiet voice.

"No," Ron repeated firmly.

"I think... I think he was draining her... I think...could they have switched places?" Harry asked.

Ron went as white as Nearly Headless Nick. "No."

"Ron..." Harry said his voice trailing off.

"No, Harry. My sister is fine, she's just hurt. Behind one of these pillars or something. Let's go look." Ron said in denial of what Harry and his own gut was telling him.

"Alright, mate, let's look," Harry said. And they looked for over an hour, searching the chamber for any sign of Ginny. When there was none Harry pulled out a quill and some ink from the pocket of his robe and handed them to Ron.

"No," Ron said shaking his head, tears running down his cheeks.

Harry pulled the offered writing emblements back and opening the ink jar, dipped his quill and wrote:

'Hello, My name is Harry Potter.'

He waited and for a moment, nothing happened and he wanted to jump for joy. He pleaded that nothing would happen, begged. And then the ink sank into the paper and letters started reforming in a familiar script. Tears flowed down his face, unrestrained.

'Harry! You have to help me! It's me, Ginny! It was Tom, he trapped me in here!' The script looked desperate, as though the writer was scribbling as quickly as they could.

Harry looked up at Ron gravely, but when he received a stiff nod he kept writing.

'Gin, I'm here in the chamber with Ron. I saw Tom, but he knocked me out. He's gone now. We will take you to Dumbledor. Maybe he will be able to get you out.' Harry wrote. He wrote slowly, trying to think of the most reassuring things to say.

The ink sank into the paper before Ginny's handwriting surfaced on the page.

'Hurry. I'm so scared. There is nothing in here, it's ... It's horrible.' The handwriting was less hurried, with more hesitation marks.

Harry looked back up at Ron who had been reading over his shoulder. "You should say something." He told his friend.

"What could I possibly say? She is in her first year and I've gone and gotten her trapped in a sodding book." Ron cried. He didn't care that Harry could see him as the tears rolled down his face. He was so scared. He wanted to run. He wanted to run all the way back up to the tower and climb into his four poster bed. He wanted this all to have been some horrible dream.

The black haired boy held out the book and quill. "You are her brother, tell her it's going to be ok. Tell her that you're going to keep writing to her. Tell her anything, just let her know you are here." Harry said with a pleading look in his eyes.

Ron took the offered book and quill. With shaking hands, he began to write.

'Hey Gin, it's Ron. It's going to be alright. We can get you out of there. Dumbledore is the greatest wizard there has ever been. He'll think of something.' His script was jumpy and jagged as he tried to keep his hands from shaking.

He tried to be optimistic. He tried to believe his own words of encouragement.

'We have to shut the book for a minute. We need to get out of the chamber before that snake finds us.' He wrote.

The ink was sucked into the page much faster at that.

'Don't leave me! Write to me as soon as you can.' Ron saw the ink go blurry as it mixed with a tear that fell onto the page as he wrote before it faded back into the pages of the book.

'I will. I promise.' He wrote, whispering the words aloud.

Ron and Harry traveled back down the winding tunnel towards where the had abandoned Lockheart in silence.

They turned the last bend and saw an eager face staring through the sizable gap Ron had managed to make in the rock fall. Lockheart was beaming at them and humming to himself without a care in the world. Ron pushed past him, holding the diary close to his chest. Harry followed right after him.

They walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe before Ron spoke. "His memory's gone," said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to wait here. He's a danger to himself"

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them. "Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"

"No," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

"Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I think there is a lift of sorts. Or maybe just stairs... I don't know. I found it a few hours ago." Ron walked over to a very dark corner of the already dark tunnel. There on the wall was a very small image of a snake in a neat circle.

Harry knew the drill and hissed "open" and the snake began to shift. Then the wall shifted. And then it opened with a great rumbling of stone that made to two boys fear for another cave collapse. When the stone wall had parted they saw a simple rope hanging from the unseeable heights of the pipe. At the end of the end of the rope was a knot. Harry, Ron, and Lockheart all stared at it.

"I think we pull it," Ron said.

"Worth a try." Harry agreed.

When they were all gathered together in the tight space that was obviously meant to transport only one, they pulled.

In the next second, they were flying upward through the pipe. Harry could hear Lockhart saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!" The chill air was whipping through Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the ride, it was over - all three of them were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them.

Harry, Ron holding Ginny's Diary, and Lockhart stood in the center of the room, covered in muck and slime and (in Ron's case) blood.

~.~

Ron and Harry made their way to the hospital wing. They had decided that they couldn't risk Lockheart wondering around on his own and that they better deposit the babbling idiot with the medi-witch before he hurt himself or someone else.

When they opened the door to the hospital wing they heard a scream.

"Ron!"

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leaped to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their son.

"Oh, Ron! We are so glad that you are alright!" And then she pulled back from her hug with a look of confusion on her face. Ron openly sobbed into his mother's arms. "Ron, where is Ginny?"

Ron with shaking hands handed his father the dairy.

~.~  
"Where does this tunnel come out?" Hermione asked breathlessly from behind him.

"I don't know... It's marked on the Marauder's Map, but Fred and George said no one's ever gotten into it... It goes off the edge of the map, but it looked like it was heading for Hogsmeade..." Harry replied, holding his walnut and unicorn hair wand out in front of him for light. His new wand had never fit him as well as his first, but it was good enough for now. Ollivander had suggested he come back next summer with an appointment, and he would make a custom wand for him.

They moved as fast as they could, bent almost double. Ahead of them, Crookshanks's tail bobbed in and out of view. On and on went the passage; it felt at least as long as the one to Honeydukes... All Harry could think of was Ron and what the enormous dog might be doing to him. He was drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch…

And then the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. Instead, Harry could see a patch of dim light through a small opening. He and Hermione paused, gasping for breath, edging forward. Both raised their wands to see what lay beyond.

It was a room, a very disordered, dusty room. The paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked very frightened but nodded.

Harry pulled himself out of the hole, staring around. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway. Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry's arm again. Her wide eyes were traveling around the boarded windows.

"Harry," she whispered, "I think we're in the Shrieking Shack."

Harry looked around. His eyes fell on a wooden chair near them. Large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped off entirely. "Ghosts didn't do that," he said slowly.

At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Both of them looked up at the ceiling. Hermione's grip on Harry's arm was so tight he was losing feeling in his fingers. He raised his eyebrows at her; she nodded again and let go.

Quietly as they could, they crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.

They reached the dark landing.

"Nox," they whispered together, and the lights at the end of their wands went out. Only one door was open. As they crept toward it, they heard movement from behind it; a low moan, and then a deep, loud purring. They exchanged a last look, a last nod.

Wand held tightly before him, Harry kicked the door wide open. On a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of them. On the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at a strange angle, was Ron.

Harry and Hermione dashed across to him.

"Ron - are you okay?"

"Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," Ron moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. "Harry, it's a trap -"

"What -"

"He's the dog... he's an Animagus."

Ron was staring over Harry's shoulder. Harry wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. It was Sirius Black.

"Expelliarmus!" he croaked, pointing Ron's wand at them.

Harry's and Hermione's wands shot out of their hands, high in the air, and Black caught them. Then he took a step closer. His eyes were fixed on Harry.

"I thought you'd come and help your friend," he said hoarsely. "It's what I would have done at your age. It's what I would've done for James."

The previous terror that had been welling up inside Harry dropped away at that. It was replaced with a boiling hatred, "Don't you dare say my father's name! You have no right! You betrayed him!"

The corpse-like man's chest started to move up and down as a low rumbling laugh began, "How little you know of the truth. I could never betray your father, Harry; I am your father. And I wasn't the one to tell the Dark Lord where James and your mother were." His beady eyes fell to Ron on the floor. "That filthy rat was."

For the first time in his life, he wanted to attack, not to defend himself, but to attack. To kill. How naïve did this monster think he was? Did he honestly think that Harry was so desperate for a family that he would believe him? He couldn't possibly be Harry's father. Everyone had always said he looks so much like James. What was he playing at?

"That's rich! You honestly expect me to believe that?"

Black's long hair was pushed to the side by his rough hands. His eyes looked less hardened, almost sad, desperate, "It's the truth. You will believe me. I'll make you believe me. I'll kill him, and then I'll make you believe me." His words got faster and more desperate as he went on. Making them sound even more like those of a madman, making his voice match his appearance. He saw the rage in Harry's eyes and then a hint of fear and skepticism. Black knew he was losing ground. This wasn't going at all as planned. His son thought he was crazy.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" Ron said fiercely, though the effort of standing upright was draining him of still more color, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.

Something flickered in Black's shadowed eyes.

"Lie down," he said quietly to Ron. "You'll damage that leg even more."

"Did you hear me?" Ron said weakly, though he was clinging painfully to Harry to stay upright. "You'll have to kill all three of us!"

"There'll be only one murder here tonight," said Black, and his grin widened.

"Why's that?" Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free of Ron and Hermione. "Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew... What's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?"

"Harry!" Hermione whimpered. "Be quiet..."

"HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry roared, and with a huge effort he broke free of Hermione's and Ron's restraint and lunged forward -

Black shot a stream of blue light out of his wand. Invisible rope seemed to wrap around Harry's chest, binding his arms to his body. With another swish of his wand, Ron and Hermione were similarly bound. "I don't want to hurt you. This will prove everything."

Black shot a summoning charm towards Ron and a large, fat, fluffy rat started floating towards him.

"That is not a rat," croaked Sirius Black.

"What d'you mean - of course, he's a rat -" said Ron.

"No, he's not," said Sirius quietly. "He's a wizard, an Animagus, by the name of Peter Pettigrew."

Hermione's face twisted with confusion. "But you killed him."

"No, I didn't, but I'm about to," Black growled, pointing his wand at the rat.

"Peter Pettigrew's dead!" said Harry. "You killed him twelve years ago!" He pointed at Black, whose face twitched convulsively.

"I meant to," He growled, his yellow teeth bared, "But little Peter got the better of me... not this time, though!"

"There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," Ron said. "A whole street full of them..."

"They didn't see what they thought they saw!" said Black savagely, still watching Scabbers struggling in mid-air. These kids weren't listening to him. He would have to prove it.

"Come off it," Ron said weakly. "Are you trying to say you broke out of Azkaban just to get your hands on Scabbers? I mean..." He looked up at Harry and Hermione for support, "Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat - there are millions of rats - how are you supposed to know which one you're after if you were locked up in Azkaban?"

Black put one of his claw-like hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Ron's shoulder, was Scabbers.

"Fudge," said Black. "When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page on this boy's shoulder... I knew him at once... how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts... to where Harry was... Just before he transformed he cut off his finger," said Black. "When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself, and sped down into the sewer with all the other rats..."

Harry wasn't listening anymore, his rage was consuming him. "And why did he fake his death?" Harry said furiously. "Because he knew you were about to kill him like you killed my parents! And now you've come to finish him off!"

"Yes, I have," said Black, with an evil look at Scabbers. Then he turned to Harry and his eyes softened.

"Harry... I didn't murder Lily and James, but, I as good as killed them," he croaked. "I persuaded them to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me... I'm to blame, I know that... The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he was gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for your mother's house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies... I realized what Peter must've done... what I'd done... But I can fix some of it! I can kill the man who betrayed your mother and James."

A flash of blue-white light erupted from his wand; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly - Ron yelled - the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then - It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed; the hair on his back was standing up. He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers's fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.

"Well, hello, Peter," said Sirius pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. "Long time, no see."

"S - Sirius... " Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. "My friend... my old friend..."

Black's wand arm rose "Avada kedavra!"

Hermione screamed. Peter Pettigrew was hit by a sharp green light and fell to the floor.

Harry stumbled backward in shock. His mind began to race and settled on the realization that it was time to flee. Hands came out and grabbed his wrist abruptly before he could make the attempt. "Harry, I mean you no harm. Please, you have to believe me now. You have to come with me," Sirius said, his eyes full of pleading.

Harry struggle to get his arm back out of the man's grasp. "You can't be serious! I'm not going with you! You just killed a man in front of me.… Rat, Ron's rat."

A pained expression appeared on the man's gaunt face. "I would have loved to raise you. Even if your mother never told James. I would have loved to watch you grow up. I couldn't. I was locked up. I escaped to see you. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to know you were alright. But now, I finally have the chance! We can be a family; I can show you. Just come with me."

Harry looked from the madman's gray eyes to his tattered clothes to his waist length, greasy hair. He was mad. He had to be. But, he'd been right about the rat. Pettigrew's body laying on the floor somehow felt even more present. A sign of the man's credibility. Could he trust him? Could he trust this disheveled man who just killed the man at his feet but promised him, family? All he'd ever wanted was a family.

Sirius was looking beseechingly at his son. It had been so long since he'd escaped Azkaban. He had been on the run so long, looking for his son. This wasn't how he expected things to go, but he wouldn't give up without Harry coming with him. Sirius's resolved strengthened.

"Harry, I can explain everything once we settle in," he pleaded. "We can't stay here. Just come with me to my house and I'll answer any questions you have."

Ron looked up at the two of them. Harry couldn't be seriously considering this. "What about us? What are you going to do with us?" He said, reminding the escaped convict that the two of them were still there.

"We can stun you. That way it will look like you were knocked out during the struggle," Sirius said, a plan forming in his mind. Just then, a knocking noise was heard. Sirius's head turned as if listening very intently.

"This place is haunted," said Hermione.

"No. It never was. We have to go now." And with that, he pointed his wand at her and Ron and stunned them. As their bodies slumped to the floor, he spun around, grabbing Harry by the waist and apparating them away. Their forms dissolved right as Remus Lupin burst through the door.

The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks. Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes flickered over Ron, lying on the floor, draped protectively over Hermione, as if they had been cowering next to the door. And then his gaze landed on the dead body on the floor in front of them.

Lupin cautiously moved into the room, staring at the body lying on the floor, and then at Crookshanks the sole conscious occupant of the room. The cat walked carelessly over the dead body and rubbed it's side against Lupin's leg.

Then Lupin spoke, in a very tense voice. "Innovate." His wand was pointed in the direction of the two stunned students. Slowly a head of bushy brown hair raised and curls tumbled over one another as the girl shook her head to wake herself up more fully. Ron copied her movements a moment later.

Hermione looked up at the professor a question clear in her eyes but then her gaze skipped down to the dead body and then around the room. Her expression changed to fearful as she seemed to remember where she was. It had not been a dream. They really were in the shrieking shack, Harry was gone, and there was a dead man lying only a few feet in front of them. How in the world were they ever going to explain this? Where was Harry? Where had Black taken him? "Professor?"

"So he finally got Peter," Lupin said, looking down at the dead body. He wanted to kick it, but the man inside him calmed his wolf enough to resist the urge. "Where was he?"

Recognition finally dawned on Hermione's face. "Ron's rat." Hermione glanced around at Ron, who looked bewildered.

"But then..." Lupin muttered, staring at the corpse of Petter Pettigrew so intently it seemed he was trying to read his empty mind, "... why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless" - Lupin's eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing something beyond the body, something neither of them could see, "- unless he was the one... unless Sirius switched... without telling me?"

"It's true then?" Hermione asked the wilderness. Was the wild man right? Could he possibly have been telling the truth? Did that mean Harry was safe? Very slowly, her gaze never leaving Lupin's face, Hermione asked. "Professor, what's going on -?"

Her question was cut off by Professor Lupin running his hands down his face and laughing. A man was dead. Harry was gone. A violent mass murderer had taken him and their professor was laughing?

She felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. "I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione screamed. She had raised herself off the floor and was pointing at Lupin, wild-eyed. "You - you -"

"Hermione -" Ron said hesitantly. He reached out to hand to grab her as she stood from the floor. Somehow he didn't feel like challenging the Professor was the best thing to do when they had just been found in a room alone with a dead body.

She shook Ron off of her, her eyes never leaving Lupins "- you know him! Have you been helping him? Do you know where he took Harry?"

"Hermione, calm down -" Lupin pleaded.

"I didn't tell anyone!" Hermione shrieked. "I've been covering up for you, I didn't tell anyone you were a werewolf -" She ignored Ron's gasp of shock. She was shaking her head, her hands on either side. She was so confused.

"Hermione, listen to me, please'" Lupin said softly. "I can explain -"

"We trusted you," she said in a voice just over a whisper. Her voice was wavering, as though she were near to tears. "and all of this time you have been helping him kidnap Harry."

"You're wrong," said Lupin. "I haven't been Sirius's friend, I'm not a death eater, but if Peter is alive... Or was... Then Sirius wasn't the one to betray Lilly and James, was he?" Lupin, looked remarkably calm, though rather pale.

"Black said he was Harry's dad -" Ron made a valiant effort to get up again but fell back with a whimper of pain. Lupin made toward him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, "Get

away from me, werewolf!"

Lupin stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said, "How long have you known?"

"Ages," Hermione whispered. "Since I did Professor Snape's essay..."

"He'll be delighted," said Lupin coolly. "He assigned that essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant... Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?"

"Both," Hermione said quietly.

Lupin forced a laugh. "You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met, Hermione."

"I'm not," Hermione whispered. "If I'd been a bit cleverer, I'd have told everyone what you are!"

"But they already know," said Lupin. "At least, the staff do."

"Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf." Ron gasped. "Is he mad?"

"Some of the staff thought so," said Lupin. "He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I'm trustworthy -"

"AND HE WAS WRONG!" Ron yelled. "YOU'VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!"

"For the last time, I haven't. I have been attempting to protect Harry from Black as much as anyone else, but I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have. It makes sense, doesn't it? Sirius would never have betrayed Lily if she were the mother of his child." He looked down at the corpse at his feet. "I think it seems fairly obvious that it was Peter here who should have gone to prison for the crime Black was convicted of."

Ron cut him off, "If you haven't been helping him," he said, with a furious glare, "how did you know he was here?"

"The map," said Lupin. "The Marauder's Map. I was in my office examining it -"

"You know how to work it?" Hermione asked looking interested.

"Of course I know how to work it," said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. "I helped write it. I'm Moony - that was my friends' nickname for me at school. The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening because I had an idea that you, Harry and Hermione might try and sneak

out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn't I?" He had started to pace up and down, looking at them. Little patches of dust rose at his feet. "I assume you went under James's invisibility cloak?" He looked over at Hermione and saw her nod before he continued. "I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid's hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else. And now I can see I wasn't wrong. My dear friend Peter has been masquerading as your pet rat for years, I assume?" Ron nodded. "And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow -"

"Lupin? Where's Black?" sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin. Severus Snape was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand out as he scanned the room searching for the escaped convict. In his hand, he held a goblet that seemed to be smoking. Then his eyes fell to the body on the ground. "Peter Pettigrew…" The words came out in a surprised whisper.

"I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow," said Snape, throwing the cloak aside, "How in the world is Peter Pettigrew…" Snape looked up at him with wild confused eyes.

"It wasn't Black, Severus. It was Peter. It was Peter all along. He was innocent." Lupin explained.

"It wasn't Black…? Then where – –" Snape said his eyes still wide and staring.

"Sirius took Harry. I don't know where. They were gone before I got here." Lupin said and turned to look at Ron and Hermione. "Did he give any indication, did he say anything at all, anything that would help us find Harry?"

Hermione looked like she was thinking hard. Was there anything? Did he say anything? She shook her head. "He kept saying that he was Harry's father, that he didn't betray Harry's parents, he killed Ron's rat – Peter Pettigrew – he said he would explain everything once they settled in."

Lupin looked thoughtful. He was nodding slowly to himself as though putting pieces together in a mental tabletop puzzle that was missing the vast majority of its parts. "Settled in… He has been planning this then. He has a place for them to live. But where? He wouldn't go home, not to his parent's house… He hated them."

Snape cut him off, "We need to get the corpse up to the headmaster. There's going to be a lot of questions. They," he jerked his head towards Ron and Hermione, "will need to get their story straight. They were found alone in a room with the dead body of a man who was awarded the Order of Merlin."

"Not to mention they were the last ones to see the boy who lived before he was captured by a mass murderer," Lupin added.

Ron and Hermione's faces went even paler if that was possible. Were they going to get blamed for this?

He thrust the goblet towards his colleague. "You forgot to drink your potion. I have no interest in you transforming and ripping my throat out, Lupin."

Lupin smiled. "Thank you, Severus."

The unlikely four made their way out of the shrieking shack, Crookshanks led the way down the stairs; Lupin, Severus, and Ron went next. Lupin had drawn up a splint for Ron's leg. Then came Peter Pettigrew, drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as they descended, Hermione brought up the rear. Getting back into the tunnel was difficult.

Hermione, he was in shock. No one was talking. Even Ron seemed too thrown by the night's events to say anything. Harry was gone. So much of how she defined her life in the wizarding world revolved around being friends with Harry Potter. He was gone. What if Black was lying? What if he was right now killing Harry...or had he already? And if he were telling the truth? Would she ever see him again? She looked over at Ron. He looked like he was about to cry. She couldn't blame him. A year ago he had lost his sister in the chamber of secrets, and now his best friend had been kidnapped. She couldn't help thinking that her life would've been much easier if she had never gotten her Hogwarts letter. If she had just stayed a muggle and lived with her parents in the muggle world.

The silence wasn't broken as they approach the castle, climbing the stone steps towards the doors that would lead to the entrance hall. She looked back over her shoulder at the quiet grounds. She saw dementors gliding in the distance across the lake. Some help they had been. Where were they when Harry was kidnapped? They were here to protect him and yet all they seemed to have done was make his year terrifying.

They walked through the entrance hall in silence. And then the silence was broken, "I should take Weasley here to the hospital wing –" Lupin started.

"I have a pain reliever. It will get him through the meeting. He needs to meet with the headmaster before the Minister shows up. You know he will. Fudge will want all the details so he can start figuring out how to spin this. A galleon says he will brand Potter as a dark wizard to save face." Snape sneered.

"Surely he wouldn't do that!" Lupin almost gasped.

"I assure you, he would. If it's not that, it will be something else equally atrocious." Snape said fishing a vile out from the inner pocket of his robes and handing it to the uncharacteristically silent redhead. "Drink this, Weasley."

Ron gulped down the liquid after a cursory sniff. Snape rolled his eyes. Weasley had never been good enough at potions to know whether he was being poisoned right now or not. Ron gave a look of disgust as the potion trickle down his throat.

"Gobstoppers" Lupin said and a gargoyle hopped away from the wall, the stones revealing a doorway, behind which a spiral staircase presented itself.

It led to the headmaster's office. When they reach the top they were greeted by Albus Dumbledore's voice coming from beyond the door "Enter."

They entered the office and were surrounded by the glimmering candlelight reflecting off of the glass and polished brass of the many magical instruments that littered the headmaster's private office. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Professors Snape and Lupin," he nodded to them all in turn, "I believe you have had an interesting night. Whom do you have floating behind you, Severus?"

"Peter Pettigrew." Hermione and Lupin said in unison.

The headmaster raised an eyebrow. "I thought… But I could never be sure…" His gaze traveled from the floating corpse to Lupin. " and where is Sirius? Harry?"

Hermione spoke up. Lupin had not been there. It was her story to tell. "Professor, I think I should tell you what happened before Professor Lupin found us in the shrieking shack." He gave her a nod and she began telling the convoluted tale of how the boy-who-lived had been captured and a man who should have died over a decade ago had been living with the Weasley's for years. The headmaster sat and listened to the whole of her story without a single interruption. She kept her gaze fixedly at him not wanting to look away for fear that the expression on Snape's face might make her hesitate. If she had turned to look she would have seen both of her professors wrapped with her story. Of course, even Lupin hadn't been told everything. There hadn't been time.

When she finished telling the tale Snape had a look of disbelief on his face. She couldn't read the headmaster's face nearly as well, but his eyes were not twinkling. They were hard and cold. Obviously losing Harry to a mass murdering escaped convict was a blow but did he believe her? When neither man spoke for a long while she spoke in frustration "There has to be a better way for me to tell you what happened. Professor Dumbledore, is there a way you can see my memories?"

The two men looked at each other and then back to the bushy haired girl and Dumbledore nodded slowly, "Very clever, yes there is."

The aged man stood up and walked over to an ornate cabinet of glass and gold. When he opened it a stone basin stood on top of a beautifully carved pedestal. He turned back towards her and indicated that she should walk towards him and the mysterious object. "This, Miss Granger, is a pensive. A rather beautiful and complex bit of magic that allows the storage and viewing of memories."

Hermione stared at the glittering, silvery liquid inside the basin. It seemed to be stirring itself, swirling allowing the candlelight to bounce off of its metallic surface creating alluring colors. "How do I use it, professor?"

"Like this." Dumbledore raised his wand to his temple and closed his eyes obviously thinking deliberately. When he moved his wand away from his temple slowly a long hair-like stream of silver came out. He placed the strand in the pensive and a tiny spectral figure of Hermione rose from the glittering surface. The little figure spoke. "How do I use it, professor?" It parroted back.

"That's amazing." She said staring at the small figure of herself as it collapsed down into the surface of the basin.

"It is. And now it is your turn, Miss Granger. Simply take your wand to your temple and think very clearly of tonight's events. When you have the memory constructed in your mind pull your wand away and place the memory on the surface." Dumbledore instructed.

It took Hermione much longer to think through the entirety of the night's events than it had for Dumbledore to simply remember words spoken to him a few seconds earlier. When she had the memory clear in her mind she moved it into the basin but no figure emerged this time. "Did I do something wrong, Professor?"

"Not at all, Miss Granger. Now, Professor Snape and I will view the events as you remember them. We will return shortly." And with that, Professor Snape rose from his chair and walked over to the pensive. They stood side-by-side before plunging their faces into the basin.

When they reemerged almost 20 minutes later they looked very serious and grave.

"Professors?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore sat down with a heavy sigh in the chair behind his desk. Snape stood behind him. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I am going to have to ask you to refrain from sharing certain elements of your memory with the authorities when they come. We cannot allow it to be common knowledge that Harry Potter is the son of a dark wizard."

"Then you believe Black? He really is Harry's father?" Ron asked. He had been nearly silent for most of the night.

Dumbledore turned to look at Ron. "I believe it is a possibility. Sirius Black was a very dear friend of Lily and James Potter. He was also, in his youth, and extraordinarily handsome and charismatic young man. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that Lilly might have… That she could have succumbed to his charms."

Snape gave a derisive snort and tossed his hair at the description of Black.

The four discussed the memory at length until they were finally interrupted by a ministry official come to investigate the events of the night and the surprising appearance of Peter Pettigrew.

~.~.~.~.{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}.~.~.~.~

Ron and Hermione were sitting in the headmaster's office for the sixth time in so many hours. They were explaining what happened in the shack to what felt like the 100th person. This time it was to the head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"No, like I said, the dog dragged me there," Ron said, exasperated.

"...and by the dog, you mean Black. Who I am supposed to believe is an unregistered animagus, that Harry Potter has seen several times this year on the school grounds." The ministry official scoffed.

"Exactly, and then Harry and I followed them through the tunnel under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack," Hermione added.

"Where Black transformed back into a man and had Pettigrew with him." The ministry official continued.

"Well, no. I mean, Scabbers had been living with us for years. So, I guess, technically I had him," stammered Ron.

"So you were the one harboring a Death Eater? Were you also the one who killed him?" It had taken a while to convince the authorities that Pettigrew was the Death Eater, but the faint dark mark on his arm seemed to convince them eventually.

"You can't be serious! For the millionth time, Black killed Pettigrew! He killed him, then he grabbed Harry, then they disapparated. Then, Professor Lupin got there and started fixing me up. Then Snape came and gave Professor Lupin a drink, for some reason, and we all came back to the castle." Ron explained.

Hermione started to look nervous and fidget in her chair in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk.

Looking not at all convinced, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sent them back to Gryffindor tower. He turned to Dumbledore who had been sitting quietly, patiently waiting for the children's interrogation to end. "Well, it's the same story that they told the last three officers I sent. I don't really know what you and the minister expect me to do at this point. The tracer on Potter's wand isn't picking anything up. Either he's left the country, Black has snapped his wand, or it's been abandoned. We simply have no way of tracing him. I'm sorry Albus, but he's gone... and considering who captured him, he may very well be dead."

"That's not good enough! He's the boy who lived. Don't you understand? We need him!" Dumbledore said, voice rising as he stood.

The DMLE head sat down in Ron's vacated chair, staring glumly at the floor. "Albus, I understand well enough. He may have defeated Voldemort when he was a baby, but the ministry has no more tools to find him than any other lost teenager. We will keep a lookout for him, but that's all we can do. My hands are tied."  
~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you for clicking on my story. I appreciate your interest and hope that you enjoy the story. I know that this first chapter seems to be … basically a C&P of the climax of the second and third books… it gets better from here lol! I just needed to establish a few events before the story really started. Please give it a couple chapters before judging it too hard :) This is my first fic.
> 
> I would like to give you fair warning. I have been told there are spelling errors that are very annoying to some readers. I am dyslexic and I honestly do not see the errors when I am staring at them. If you feel the need to tell me when you see typing/spelling errors, please be kind enough to limit yourself to private messaging rather than reviewing and please point out exactly where the errors you find offensive are. This way I can fix them for you. Simply posting a review that my spelling is poor and that I should proofread is unhelpful (it's bullying) and counterproductive as it only serves to make me sad and want to give up.
> 
> I have a team of betas (See my profile for a list of these wonderful people! They are fabulous!) but this is a big project and I can use all the help I can get. If you like the story and would like to beta, please private message me. If you like the story and you would like to offer to beta one, two, or a handful of chapters, please private message me.
> 
> Also, I would love input on how readers would like the story to progress so please feel free to review with suggestions. I hope that you continue to read (and review) and enjoy the story.


	2. Chapter 1: 12 Grimmauld Pl, Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Harry and Sirius gather supplies and set off for a foreign land that they will soon call home, Sirius has some explaining to do, Tom sets out to find someone to lead, Lucius is confused, and Harry reads a book.

"Let go of me!" Harry said, stumbling away from his kidnapper. Looking around the room, he surveyed his new surroundings. He was in the foyer of a dark, dusty house. The tattered carpets and heavy velvet drapes on the windows, the neglected hardwood floors, and the dust covered chandelier spoke of former opulence left to disarray. "Where are we?"

"London, in my childhood home. We can't stay here long. I just wanted to gather a few things." Harry could tell that Sirius was less than comfortable in his parents' house. It looked as though he would like nothing more than to get away from this house as quickly as possible.

"Don't worry, I have no intention of staying anywhere with you for any length of time. Take me back. You can't just kidnap me!" Harry's self-righteous rage was bubbling back over. So what if Pettigrew had been Scabbers. This man was still responsible for his parents' deaths, if only partially. He still didn't have any proof that he was his father. And now he had kidnapped him.

"I can't do that. I can't lose you again. You'll understand; just give me a chance to explain." Sirius was rifling through drawers, obviously looking for things. He started shoving different items into his pockets. As he walked further down the foyer, a portrait on the wall noticed their presence.

She was a middle-aged woman with stunning black hair, in a very fine-looking set of dress robes. She looked stern, but upon seeing Sirius her eyes softened just the tiniest bit. "Sirius!?"

"It's me, Mum."

"The other portraits said you were in Azkaban!"

"I've escaped. And I've brought you your grandson, Harry. We can't stay long. I am a fugitive. We have to leave the country" Sirius said, depositing Harry in front of the portrait. "We're just here to grab my vault keys and a few provisions. We can talk later at the manor." Sirius shot her an apologetic look and rushed into the study through the door to his left. He rummaged around for a few minutes, finally finding the keys and documents he would need to set them up with a new life.

Harry, bewildered and terrified, stood still. Where was he taking him? He still had Harry's wand. He had to escape. He would have to wait for the right moment... but he didn't even know where they were going.

Sirius marched back into the room feeling more settled now that he had everything he needed. He clamped a hand down on Harry's shoulder, mentally adjusting the wards to allow them to apparate out and into Black Manor.

They landed on the marble floor of the grand entrance hall in Black Manor. Large, oversized fireplaces were at either end of the enormous hall, with mirrors along one wall and windows looking out over a heavily landscaped garden and thick woods along the wall across from them. "You can't keep doing that!" said Harry as he caught his balance. He hated apparating.

"I'm sorry, but that's the last time. We're home now. This can be our home. We can be a family here. I can give you everything I should have, but couldn't. I can take care of you now." Sirius said with a pleading look on his face.

It struck Harry that this was what he had always wanted. This was what the Dursleys would never give him. A family, a home. Harry sighed, giving in. "You should get cleaned up, you're a mess. And honestly, you look a little too scary to take seriously." He might not believe this ragged man 100%, but he had been right about the rat. That had to count for something. And regardless, without his wand he didn't really have a choice.

A huge smile erupted on Sirius's gaunt face. "Of course! Of course! Follow me, I'll take you to my old bedroom. It can be your bedroom now. We can get cleaned up and then we'll talk." The man's entire demeanor seem to have changed at the small amount of acceptance. He led Harry to the second story with a skip in his step.

Pushing open the third door to the right on the second-story landing, Harry was shown a cheery bedroom decorated in Gryffindor red and gold. Everything had a thick layer of dust, as though it hadn't been touched in years. Harry realized it probably hadn't. Sirius cast a strong scourgify on the bed, chair, and desk, making the room at least somewhat habitable.

"I'll have to see where the house elves have gotten off to. Get the place up and running again," he said, looking a little embarrassed at the state of the house. "I'll be just across the hall, getting cleaned up." With that, he left him alone.

Harry found the adjoining bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked horrible. Coming back into the main room, he looked around at the room. It reminded him of Ron's room, or what Ron's room might have looked like if Ron's family had more money than they knew what to do with. There were posters of rock stars and quidditch players on the walls, photographs of what Harry assumed was a young Sirius Black in his Hogwarts days, many including James or Remus, and tons of board games.

Harry began to wonder what he was doing here. He was surprised that he was beginning to trust Black. Lost in thought, Harry jumped a little at a loud rap on the door. The noise was followed by Black bursting into the room with a little skip and jump, landing like a gymnast would dismount with his arms outstretched as if to say 'tadaaaa!'. Harry had to admit that the man looked worlds different. His gaunt, skeletal face had obviously been glamoured back to a healthier appearance. The long black mess of hair had been cut and styled to just below the shoulders and appeared voluminous and healthy, likely as a result of magical styling and glamours. He was dressed in simple blue dress robes with silver trim that seemed perfectly tailored to him, though Harry realized they were likely transfigured clothes of his, Black's, father's. "See, I clean up alright," Black grinned, before he looked Harry up and down.

"I thought… Let's get you cleaned up too." Here Harry looked embarrassed, realizing now that he was meant to clean up at the same time, he'd just been too lost in thought. Black marched over to his old childhood wardrobe and pulled out robes from his own Hogwarts days. They were simple green dress robes with delicate copper embroidery on the trim. Holding them up in front of Harry he said, "These were mine when I was in second year - you're still a bit small, no fault of your own obviously. If you're anything like me you'll have another couple growth spurts, but your mother was always small. They should fit you. They'll bring out your mother's eyes. Lily always had such beautiful green eyes..." Harry took the robes from the rambling man and walked towards the door that lead to the bathroom. Opening it, he entered and began to wash up.

Left to his own thoughts again, Harry started boiling with anger. His mind had been circling around the tale for so long that he hadn't noticed a few pieces of the puzzle that had now clicked together. "Hey! You were friends with my parents, you're Light, but your mother - I mean I assume she was your mother, she called you her son… she said Our Lord, when she was talking about Voldemort! She said she was worried about you, that you were in Azkaban… But you said you didn't betray my parents! Whose side are you on?!"

Black let his body collapse into an armchair and hung his head, this was too complicated, too hard to explain to a 13-year-old whose sense of right and wrong, his sense of justice, was still so black-and-white. "Yes, I was their friend. Your mother and James meant the world to me… but I am not a Light wizard. I have Dark magic in my blood. I'm a Black. So are you. You can pretend to be Light, you can cast only Light spells, but you will always be Dark and you will always be a Black." He paused, as if knowing the backlash was coming.

"That's ridiculous! Evil isn't in someone's blood! Even if you are my father, as you say, that wouldn't mean I was evil just because you were!" Harry bellowed at the dejected-looking figure in the chair.

Black raised his head. "Listen to me!" he pleaded, "You have only been shown... only told the Light's perspective. The Light wizards have decided that our race, culture, and beliefs are evil. But what could be more evil than judging and dismissing a people for who and what they are? Dark magic is not inherently evil, just as Light magic is not inherently good. You can do wonderful, loving things with a dark spell just as you can do vicious, cruel things with a Light spell. It's the intention and the character of the caster that determines the morality behind a spell, not the caster's blood."

Harry was confused. "Blood? A people? I thought Dark wizards choose to be Dark by using Dark magic…?"

"No. That's a lie the Light uses to subjugate our people. Dark wizards' magic atrophies when they abstain from practicing their arts. The Light has been in power for only around three hundred years. They have slowly in that time levied more and more restrictions on our people. They have made it illegal for us to practice our culture, our beliefs, our magic. Those among us that play nice and assimilate are given positions of power and granted high-paying jobs to teach others the benefits of pretending to be Light!" Sirius became more impassioned as he spoke, rising to his feet and staring Harry down.

Harry backed away - what was Black saying? This went against everything Harry knew to be true and right. Light was good, and Dark was evil. That was why they were called the Light and the Dark, wasn't it?

"You can't just dismiss the fact that the Dark does evil things! They murder. They kill. They killed my parents! They supported Voldemort! He is obviously evil!" Harry stammered in a plea to be right. For everything he knew not to be a lie. That was what Black was saying, wasn't it? That everything Harry knew was just brainwashing from an oppressive government?

"Did you ever wonder why Dark magic was called Dark? Why Light magic was called Light? It is merely an illustration. A way of differentiating through language. A Dark spell is not inherently good or evil, nor is it fueled by hatred or negative emotions. It is simply a spell crafted by and for a Dark wizard. "

Harry opened his mouth as if to protest, but closed it again as Sirius rose a single finger to stop him. "You have most likely only heard of Dark curses. Your Light-biased teachers have probably never mentioned Dark cleaning spells, construction spells, or healing potions. Doesn't that seem awfully convenient? Every useful spell is Light and every hateful spell is Dark?"

"...I never thought about it like that, I guess… There are Dark cleaning spells?!" Said Harry bewildered.

"Of course there are! There's a Dark equivalent spell for every Light spell you have ever heard of! Dark spells are Dark simply because they are fueled by a Dark wizard's magic!" Sirius said, exasperated.

"Wait a minute. If Dark spells are fueled by Dark wizards' magic and Light spells are fueled by Light wizards' magic, then how can Dark wizards do Light magic? Doesn't that go against everything you just said?!" Harry protested, a little proud of himself for having caught Black in a lie.

"You're right; they shouldn't." Sirius started, proud of his son, a smirk spreading across his face. "A true Dark wizard shouldn't be able to cast Light spells, and a true Light wizard shouldn't be able to cast Dark spells. The problem is that after the Sorcerers' War of 356, The International Confederation of Wizards decided to institute forced intermarriage between Dark houses and Light houses with the hope of ending hostilities. From that point on, Dark houses had some Light magic in their childrens' blood and Light houses had some Dark magic in their childrens' blood. It's taking us millennia to regain our blood purity. Did you never wonder why purebloods were so proud of their blood status? We are trying to overcome the shame of that mandate so many centuries ago." Harry might not know his history, but he had instinctively known there was more to the story. That made Sirius proud. Clever boy.

"...that makes sense." Harry didn't want it to be true. He didn't want there to be a rationale behind the way the Dark fought against the Light. They were just monsters.

Reading Harry's face, Sirius said "We aren't monsters. Not even the Death Eaters are monsters. We are fighting a war. We are fighting to protect our families. We are fighting for the right to live, to exist, to practice our faith and our magic."

"No! The Death Eaters are monsters! You can't defend them!"

Sirius sighed. "It's times like these I wish I had taken the mark. I wish I could show you. I serve the Dark. I am not a monster. I fought in the first war to protect my family."

"But you didn't... You fought with the Light… Didn't you? Didn't you fight with my parents? Weren't they your friends?" Harry questioned.

"I was a spy."

Harry just stood there. A spy. Now Black was going to tell him he was a spy. That didn't make any sense. Hagrid had shown him pictures of his parents at Hogwarts. Black had been there, having fun, being a good Light wizard. He was a Gryffindor for goodness sake! "You're mad! There's no way you could've been a spy the whole time. Not that long...you were their friend for years. All through Hogwarts. ...You would've had to trick the sorting hat!"

"I was told when I was very young that I was to be a spy. Protector of the Dark. Prophecy runs in my family. Our family. My mother, your grandmother, was a Seer. She told me when I was around eight years old that I had to start distancing myself from my current friends. I didn't understand at the time, but over the next couple of years she started to explain my role in the upcoming war." Sirius said.

"So you did betray my parents!" Harry said in triumph.

"No! It wasn't like that… Well… I grew up with them. I knew them so well. They were my best friends... but, yes... I guess I betrayed them, in a way." Sirius was pacing around the room his hands combing through his hair. Trying to explain, he said, "I knew they were going to become the most important people in my life. I knew I would love them... but I also knew my role. There was nothing I could do. My mother had Seen it."

"What role? What was it that was so important that was worth betraying your friends?!" Harry asked in anger.

"You." He stopped pacing. He just stared into Harry's eyes as if trying to see if he could see what he was thinking. "I had to create you."

"But..."

"My mother told me when I was a child that I would come to be friends with a girl with fire for her hair and a boy who could be my twin if not for blood. When I met them on the train I knew instantly. When I got to the sorting, I asked to be put in Gryffindor, where I knew they would end up. We became fast friends. James accepted me because I was a natural prankster just like him. Lily was so kind and so gentle, so brilliantly intelligent. We were the best of friends, James, Lily, Remus and I. I knew I would eventually have to betray them... But not the way you think. Lily and James were getting closer; I knew they were going to get married. I was running out of time. I had to have you. She had to have you. We betrayed James only a few days before their wedding. She didn't know it, but I had given her a potion so that she would conceive you. It was so hard to betray her trust like that. I felt like a monster. She had no intention of a child coming from that one night… but it was from that betrayal that we got you." He was looking at Harry as he spoke, with a sense of wonderment in his eyes. As his narrative progressed he stepped closer and closer to Harry, reaching up to cup his face with one hand, looking into Lily's eyes.

Harry could hear the truth in his voice, the earnestness. He looked up at his father and said, "Why me? I was the one to bring down Voldemort as a baby. How could I be so important to the Dark? How could you want to make a child who brought down your leader?"

Some of the madness crept back into Sirius's black eyes. "Oh, Harry, the war isn't over. It's barely begun. You didn't kill Voldemort. He is still out there. He is alive. He is planning the next war. And you will be his right hand." The words came from an almost stone-like face, as if he was repeating something he had heard a long long time ago.

Harry pushed him away, regretting his momentary feelings of attachment. "You're off your trolley! I would never work for Voldemort!" He shouted.

An impish smirk broke out across the older man's face. "You shouldn't judge people before you've truly met them. If you knew what I know, you wouldn't be so quick to think I was mad." With that, he turned his back to Harry and walked back to the bedroom door, throwing over his shoulder, "It's late. Get a good night's sleep - we have a lot to do in the morning."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it "The Riddle House", even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied.

The Little Hangletons all agreed that the old house was "creepy." Half a century ago, something strange and horrible had happened there, something that the older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scarce. The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore. Every version of the tale, however, started in the same place: Fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning, when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead.

The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated, or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all. In fact (the report continued, in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment), the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note (as though determined to find something wrong with the bodies) that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon his or her face — but, as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of three people being frightened to death?

Tom Riddle sat in a plush high-back chair in the parlor of his grandfather's house. He had finally made it back to England. After a year searching in the forests of Albania, he'd finally found his master soul fragment. He had been hoping to join with his master soul, thus creating a stronger life force. He had been hoping to. When he finally found the master soul fragment, however, he had found it... wanting. His master soul had been driven insane, from years detached from a body. It was useless to him. He had then spent a significant portion of the year devising a plot to lure and encapsulate his master soul fragment right into a new horcrux vessel. He had stumbled quite by accident on a Dark commune of religious wizards whose sect was centered around the protection of an ancient artifact.

After Imperio-ing one of them, he was able to discover that the object was a scrying stone used by Mordred. The stone would be a perfect vessel. After stealing it, he used it to lure his master soul fragment, and now the stone was fashioned into a necklace that hung around his neck. Toying with the necklace between three of his long elegant fingers, he stared into the fire. It seemed that no amount of researching his future selves' exploits betwixt the ages of 16 and 66 was going to give him a sufficient enough knowledge base.

He knew who the main players were, but the reports were scarcely informative. Who could he trust? Who would believe him? It was one thing to grow up with Dark wizards and gain their trust slowly over years, manipulating them into loyal followers; it was quite another thing entirely to ask their children and grandchildren to obey the commands of a 16-year-old, simply because he shared a soul fragment with their patriarchs' leader. However... he was still the best choice, wasn't he? He had proven that he was capable of leading the Dark. He had proven that he was capable of waging war against their Light oppressors. Wouldn't they come back to him? Surely there was someone he could find from the old days, someone who would see him and instantly recognize their leader's younger form. But summoning them all now was simply too risky. Oh, he knew how. He had planned out his mark long ago at school, and he could guess from the illustrations of it in the new history books which incantation he would need to summon his followers to him. His blood was tied to their marks, his magical core was tied to their magical cores. He could summon them, but who would follow a mere child? He had thought about glamouring himself to appear older, but there was also power in youth and vitality. If he could simply get them to accept him in this body, he could rule for centuries. If they could see past age, he could always find ways to become young again. He was the master of immortality, after all.

Something moved around his ankles and he looked down at his most loyal of followers. He had found Nagini in the forest with his master soul fragment and recognized his childhood pet immediately. She had grown to her full size, and was now impressive, but when he spoke to her it was clear that she recognized him as well. She agreed that his master soul fragment had gone mad, though she had been protecting him for years in the forest. He had been able to gain some sense of sanity by going into her mind, possessing her for moments. He could feel the light hum of magic when he touched her scales. Having her close gave him great comfort.

At this moment it was more important to find followers, convince them of who he was and who he could become for them, and start the war anew. He stood, tossed green powder from a bowl on top of the fireplace into the flames, and clearly spoke the words "Malfoy Manor".

Appearing on the other end of the fire in an opulent, marble-floored receiving chamber, the young aspiring Dark Lord dusted off his robes with a quick swish of his stolen wand. It worked surprisingly well for him, but lacked the heft of his original wand. He had plans to retrieve it, but first thing first. He strode with confidence through the familiar home to the portrait hall. His friend was dead, he knew, but his portrait would recognize him; he was sure of it.

He knew the place well from having spent a winter holiday there in his sixth year. The portrait hall wasn't far. It was unlikely he would run into anyone before he got there. It was also highly convenient that the wards were still tied to his magical signature, allowing him to floo into the manor. Maybe his friend's son, or possibly even grandson by this point, expected him to return. Finding the portrait hall, he ignored the rumblings of the long dead patriarchs and strode to the end of the hall to the very last portrait. His childhood right-hand hung there on the wall. If it weren't for the nameplate below the frame and the expression in his eyes upon seeing Tom, he would never have recognized him. The man had not aged well. "My Lord! How can it be? Last I saw you… Did you obtain a new body? How can you appear as you did when we were children? I… I'm sorry... How may I serve you?"

"Ax," he nodded to his friend, a smile spreading across his face at the recognition. Things might not go too poorly, then. "I've returned. It doesn't matter how, just know that I am back. Is your son home? Lucius? I'm going to need my right hand if I wish to start the war up again."

"In his study, my Lord. I have another portrait there. Would you like me to alert him for you?" The old man asked.

"Yes, that will do nicely," Tom said, adopting a charming smile.

Tom waited as the portrait of the wizened man exited to the left of the frame and left behind a painting of an empty study - presumably the same study that he was now off to visit. The portrait returned a few minutes later. "He should be here momentarily - he was more than a little shocked, as you can imagine. I... took the liberty of preparing him for your appearance, my Lord."

"Thank you, that will be sufficient." With that, the 16-year-old Lord swiveled on one heel and strode back towards the receiving hall. Once there, he conjured himself a high-backed chair, as was his preference for seating, and waited for a man he had never met who would likely know him better than anyone else in this new world.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lucius Malfoy was frazzled. Malfoys were never frazzled. They were imposing, charismatic, and occasionally sexy, but never off their guard, and never taken by surprise. He combed out his long, platinum blonde hair in an attempt to do something to make himself presentable for his master. He'd always felt his master would return, but he was not expecting it to be today. How could you expect something after 12 years of waiting?

Nevertheless, there would be no pleasing his Lord. He was going to be so angry... There was no way Lucius would get out of this meeting without a heavy number of curses being thrown at him. He knew his Lord would have wanted him to resurrect him in some fashion, but honestly, it took years just to clear his name and social standing. In addition to that, how was he supposed to so much as find, let alone resurrect his master? How could he be expected accomplish something no one had ever done before, when he had gotten no instructions on how to go about it? Yet, he was sure none of that would matter to his master now. He had failed. He had lived a lavish life while his master had suffered, and now his proverbial chickens were coming home to roost.

Brushing non-existent dust from long, dark green robes, he opened the door to his study. He stepped out into the hallway and walked towards the portrait hall. He was deep in thought when he was startled by the presence of a high backed, excessively formal, chair in the center of his receiving hall. He'd only been passing through in order to get to the adjacent portrait hall.

"Lucius, what a delight to see you. You have a lovely home," said a voice not quite deep enough to be the voice of his master.

"My Lord?" Lucius walked around the chair until he faced the 16-year-old boy. Correction, the strikingly handsome 16-year-old boy with a self-satisfied smirk on his face that was just oh-so reminiscent of the Dark Lord. His father had warned him that his master would be younger, but this... Lucius dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "How may I serve you, my Lord?" Meeting the teenage version of the Dark Lord was a shock, in more ways than one, but if he allowed himself to be distracted, he may as well be begging to be crucioed.

"You may inform me of what has occurred in my absence. What fun have I missed out on in the past decade and a half? Where were my loyal and trusted followers? Dutifully hunting for me, to bring about my resurrection? Or were they, like you, only hunting for their own self-preservation, enrichment, and rising social status?"

Lucius quivered under the intense gaze and charismatic smirk of his master. This was not going to go well for him.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Harry fell onto his bed in Black Manor in exhaustion. They had had an intense day in Wizarding Prague. First, Black had wanted to purchase himself a new wand, in order to give Harry back his. Black had been chosen by a hickory and dragon heartstring wand. He had remarked on the contrast between this new one, and the wand he had first chosen as a child. It was interesting that wizards didn't buy new wands more frequently as they aged; as life experiences could greatly change the wizard and affect their interaction with their previous wand.

Then they had gone out for all new sets of dress robes, casual robes, and muggle-style clothing for each of them. Harry had tried to insist that he would have no need for formal robes, but Sirius just retorted that, as a member of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, he would.

It had been six days since he had been… kidnapped. That was the right word, wasn't it? He hadn't come voluntarily… Now, however, it seemed as though he had started to settle into this new life. Even though it had only been a couple days, a routine had started to emerge. Black would burst into his room around nine in the morning, often followed by a house elf named Turvey, and they would eat breakfast in Harry's bed. Black would talk about Harry's parents back in their Hogwarts days. He seemed to brighten up considerably when he spoke about the pranks he would play with James. Harry learned that Black hated Snape growing up, so he figured he couldn't be all bad. In the afternoons, they would sit in the Library or fly brooms. The first time, Black had chuckled and warned him that the manor was warded and he shouldn't bother escaping, he would just end up in a cell in the dungeons. Harry had tried it to see if it was true and wound up with a nasty headache from falling six feet onto the hard stone floor. In the evenings the house elves would make them a meal or they would go into the city under glamours.

Harry felt like he was betraying the Light by enjoying himself. He had been kidnapped, but his captor was friendly, funny, and seemed to genuinely care about him. But now... He had his own wand back, couldn't he just leave? Wouldn't people be looking for him? Why hadn't he received any letters? Why hadn't Ron or Hermione written to him? They were right there when he was snatched. Maybe he was just too far for the owls to make it by now. He fell asleep with his clothes on that night, dreaming about the friends he left behind.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Harry woke when Sirius burst into the room with a terrible crash. After a few days of restoring potions, food, and a stable place to stay, Sirius was feeling more like himself than he had in over a decade. The 35-year-old looked the picture of health - if you didn't know him, you would never have guessed he had spent a third of his life in prison. Harry was not having quite as blissful of a morning. His dreams had been ... Terrible. Images flashed before his eyes of that night in the Shrieking Shack. He could feel the fear, see the tunnel, and hear a voice... What was it saying?

Something stirred in Harry's memory. Greater and more terrible than ever before... Professor Trelawney's prediction!

"But it didn't happen like that..." He looked up at his captor. "When I was having my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney went very... very strange."

"Trelawney?" said Sirius. "I think I knew a Sybill Trelawney in school. Mad as a hatter, always mumbling to herself... She used to sneak off to the pub in Hogsmeade and get sloshed all the time."

"Sounds like the same Trelawney," Harry said with a grimace, imagining a drunk, babbling, teenage Trelawney.

"Er - then you mean stranger than usual?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah... her voice went all deep and her eyes rolled and she said ... she said Voldemort's servant was going to set out to return to him before midnight... She said the servant would help him come back to power." Harry stared up at Sirius. "And then she sort of became normal again, and she couldn't remember anything she'd said. You said your mum was a seer. Was it - was she making a real prediction?"

Sirius was impressed.

"I think she might have been." he said thoughtfully. "Who'd have thought it? Sloshed Sibel strikes again. That brings her total of real predictions up to two."

"But -" Harry looked at him, aghast. How could Sirius take this so calmly?

"But - You killed Pettigrew! That means one of us will be at fault if Voldemort comes back!"

"It does," said Sirius quietly.

"You're planning to bring Voldemort back?!" Harry shouted, scrambling away from the man.

"You know where my loyalties truly lie, but no, I'm not 'setting out to return to him'," Sirius explained.

"The consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed... Professor Trelawney was not exactly the most clairvoyant of seers, bless her, she only saw glimpses of the future. Granted they have been highly pivotal moments, but alas, only glimpses."

"But if you help Voldemort back to power..."

"I won't." Sirius reassured him, reaching out his hand to touch Harry's."I will come when I am summoned, but not before. Trelawney's visions might not have been clear, but my mum's were clear and frequent. It was like a curse on her. She lived half her life with her consciousness out of time. She was a blood prophet. She only Saw Blacks. She guided our family through every major event in our lives." said Sirius, smiling fondly. "She was frequently a mean, horrible woman, but she did look out for us."

"If she only saw visions of Blacks, and you're not planning to bring Voldemort back... Then you think I am?" Harry all but shrieked the last sentence, looking as though he was once again convinced Black was mad.

"No, I don't think you're planning to, but... Well, she had visions of you and the Dark Lord together." Sirius said nervously, he knew that Harry had no intention of supporting the Dark Lord. Not yet. "She said that you, my son, would be the Dark Lord's most trusted follower."

"And I thought Trelawney's predictions were insane."

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

"It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

Tom Riddle and Lucius Malfoy had been sitting in conjured chairs in Lucius's receiving hall for the better part of six hours. House elves, coming every hour or so, would occasionally drop off trays of sandwiches or refresh the tea pot.

"O- over, my Lord?" said Lucius. "Forgive me, but — I fail to understand — why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Because, idiot, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every last meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So, we wait," Tom explained, pouring himself a new cup of tea, his wand casually tilted towards the teapot as it levitated, pouring the hot liquid into the cup below.

"But surely such a public event would be an ideal announcement of your return to the Wizarding World! Even just a smattering of Death Eaters in robes and masks having some fun would make a decent show," Lucius reasoned.

"Is that really what you think? Drunken idiots in masks, with a Muggle or two suspended in the air and screaming in pain? You think that will sway Dark families to my side? You think your colleagues and friends would send their children to fight a war because of that sort of display?"

"In the last war, it was the sort of thing you leaned towards most often before you left us..."

Tom looked at the other man. What had his older self come to? Had all of his principles been cast aside in his madness? Was this the result of his soul being so fragmented? Just how many horcruxes had he made? Had he forgotten what they were fighting for? "Well, it will not be like that this time. We need to rebuild our forces. That means a show of strength and righteous conviction. Not displays of drunken idiocy." He sat down his tea. "There is a time and a place for striking fear into the hearts of the Light. The time is not when our forces are at such minimal numbers. That is how we get caught. That is how knights die unnecessarily."

"Then we need to strengthen our forces, for that we need funds. I, of course, can pledge my vaults, but you will need more. War is not inexpensive, my Lord." Lucius dropped his head in reference as he spoke as if his body could display the fealty that he felt.

"You are most correct. You shall host a ball," Tom said with a glint in his eyes. "We need to gather our European allies - you have a château in France, do you not? Hold the ball there, invite all our English and European allies. Enhance the usual secrecy spells on the reply cards. No one should be capable of revealing my return to the world before I decide it is time."

"Of course, my Lord. How long do I have to prepare?" Lucius asked, already imagining the screaming match he was about to get into with Narcissa. Asking her to prepare an event of this magnitude would drive his tightly wound wife up a wall.

"One month. We should have the ball directly following the World Cup. You should go to the match, and ensure everyone is… on their best behavior."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Sirius couldn't believe it. He had picked up a British newspaper in town, only to find that there across the front page was his own face looking out at him, next to a picture of Peter Pettigrew lying facedown and presumably dead on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

PETTIGREW DEAD.

BLACK CLEARED OF MURDER, WANTED FOR MURDER AGAIN!

HARRY POTTER MISSING.

The article seemed to be complete rubbish. The story they were telling seemed to circle around the accounts of Harry's school friends. The papers did seem to get it right that Pettigrew was the one who had truly betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort. The Aurors had found him with his Dark Mark still clearly displayed on his forearm. This had the convoluted effect of clearing him of the original murder, while simultaneously making him both a hero for avenging the their saviors' parents' death, and a monstrous madman for kidnapping the savior of the wizarding world, and killing a man that had been given an Order of Merlin. All in all, the papers didn't seem to know what to think. It seemed he wouldn't be going back to England anytime soon. The papers made it abundantly clear that the British ministry wanted Harry back, and he had absolutely no intention of giving his son back to the Light. He was already starting to get through to him, he knew it.

Sirius had a whistling tune on his lips as he walked through the manor, carrying a stack of old books. They were histories of the great Dark families, histories of the Blood Wars, and, most importantly, his journals from his Hogwarts days. Harry could be made to understand his cultural history, it would just take reeducation and a lot of patience. The Light had only had him for three years. Sirius could work with that.

Just then and owl rapped on a window to his left, startling him. How in the world did it find him? Who would be writing him? The wards would have kept ordinary post owls lost and confused circling around the countryside. The house was virtually unreachable.

He opened the window, allowing the bird in. It rustled on his shoulder and nipped at his hair. Frustrated immediately by the bird's picking, he untied the small envelope from the eagle owl's leg. Where he would normally find the wax seal with the crest of the sender's house, he found a Dark Mark.

"Already?" He said aloud to himself. He wished he had more time alone with his son, but it seemed that things were going to progress faster than he had hoped.

Despite the seal, the invitation appeared to be from Lord and Lady Malfoy, inviting him and his household to their château in the south of France for a ball. Well. This was going to be a hard event to convince his less-than-loyal son to attend.

He had reached his destination. Stiffening his resolve, Sirius rapped on the door to Harry's room. He waited a moment, then entered.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face. The old scar on his forehead, that was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin.

He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for his glasses. They were on the bedside table. He put them on and his bedroom came into clearer focus, as did Black, his intrusion yet again into the room was apparently the cause for his sudden arousal from sleep.

He had been dreaming about a boy, a boy with dark black hair and deep black eyes. He had been talking to someone. They were planning? It seemed to be slipping away now. He looked up to see Black walking over to him with a look of concern on his face. He shook his head as if to dislodge the dream and said, "Did you need something?"

"Are you okay? It looked like you were having a pretty bad dream." Sirius said ignoring the question.

"I'm fine. I get nightmares sometimes. It has been happening for about a year now." Harry said rubbing his head.

Sirius looked dubious but brushed it off. Kids had bad dreams sometimes. It was probably nothing. "Well I brought you some books to read." Smiling down at his son, he plopped the books down on the bed next to Harry.

"Books? You kidnapped me, and now you want me to study? It's summer." Harry protested.

Sirius combed his fingers through his hair, "Well I wouldn't call it studying. More like… Well… Yeah, it's studying." Sirius open the first book. "This is a history of the blood wars. Most of the books you probably read for History of Magic were written by Light wizards. Every story has two sides. It's important to remember that histories are written by the victors and often tainted by their perspective and their propaganda. This is a history of the wars between the Light and the Dark from a dark perspective."

"What's the point? I already had to read a ton for history of magic. Well Hermione did, but she told us all about it. This stuff is just going to be apologizing for the evil the dark did, right?" Harry said skeptically turning the book over in his hands.

"Just… Just try reading it. I know you don't want to believe me on anything, but it's really important to me that you try. Look, just read the introduction or something and then we can talk about it, okay?"

Harry begrudgingly picked up the book, raising an eyebrow he said, "Are you going to watch me while I read?"

Sirius' face burst out into a wide grin, he turned on his heel and practically skipped through the door.

Harry began to read.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Persecution of Dark Wizards has occurred on many occasions and at widely different geographical locations. Persecution has been a major part of Dark Wizarding history, and it has affected the history and social development of the countries and societies in which the persecution occurred. Europe and the Middle East have been chief areas of persecution throughout the ages.

Dark Persecution can be traced back to the time of the dark sorcerer Mordred or Modred (/ˈmoʊdrɛd/; Welsh: Medraut, Medrod, etc.), known to the light as a notorious traitor who fought the muggleborn wizard King Arthur at the Battle of Camlann, where he was fatally wounded and the muggleborn King was killed. He was considered the son of the great sorceress Morgause, also known as Anna, with her husband King Lot of Orkney. His brothers or half-brothers are Gawain, Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth. The name (from either Old Welsh Medraut, Cornish Modred, or Old Breton Modrot) is ultimately derived from Latin Moderātus.

The first surviving mention of Mordred (here called Medraut), occurs in the Annales Cambriae entry for the year 537:

Gueith Camlann in qua Arthur et Medraut corruerunt.

"The strife of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut fell."

The Annales themselves were completed between 960 and 970, though their authors drew on older material. Mordred was associated with Camlann even at that early date.

Dark Historians agree that the muggleborn king Arthur left Mordred in charge of his throne as he crossed the English Channel to wage war on muggle Emperor Lucius of Rome. During Arthur's absence Mordred crowned himself king and married the muggle Queen Guinevere, forcing Arthur to return to Britain. The Battle of Camlann was fought, and Arthur died while Mordred was taken to Avalon.

This battle is seen as a pivotal point in dark/light relations. The light wizard Merlin was particularly close to the muggleborn king and called for war against the Dark sisters Morgause and Morgan Le Fay in retaliation. This was the catalyst for the first blood war.

In the Middle Ages dark blood or old magic persecution in Europe was religious. Though not part of Light Wizarding dogma, many Light Wizards, including members of the wizengamot of many European countries, have held Dark Wizards collectively responsible for killing Arthur, a practice originated by Merlin. Over the course of time, The Light began to accept that the Dark as a whole was responsible for killing Arthur. According to this interpretation, both the Mordred and the Dark collectively and for all time, have committed the sin of regicide, or "king-killing". For 1900 years of Light/Dark history, the charge of regicide has led to hatred, violence against and murder of Dark Wizards in Europe and throughout western Wizardom.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Well that was a bit different." Harry murmured.

/told you/ Harry heard through the door. "Are you seriously listening at the door?" Harry said raising his voice so he could be clearly heard by his eavesdropping kidnapper.

"No" Sirius said dejectedly while he opened the door and stepped back into the room. "So, I know you just started, but what do you think? Are you willing to at least try to see things from our perspective?"

"You can't seriously expect me to change my whole perspective on magical history in two pages." Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "Go back outside, this time don't listen at the door, and I'll keep reading." He returned back to the book and continued reading.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

During the High Middle Ages in Europe there was full-scale persecution in many places, with blood libels, expulsions, forced intermarriages and massacres. An underlying source of prejudice against Dark in Europe was religious. The Light cults of Merlin clashed severely with the Dark cults of the prophet Mordrid. Dark Wizards were frequently massacred and exiled from various European countries. The persecution hit its first peak during the Second Blood War. In the Second Blood War (1096) flourishing Dark communities on the Rhine and the Danube were completely destroyed. Dark Wizards in France and England were subject to frequent massacres. The Dark was also subjected to attacks in the wars of 1251 and 1320. The Blood Wars were followed by expulsions, including in 1290, the banishing of all English Dark Wizards; in 1396, 100,000 Dark Wizards were expelled from France; and, in 1421 thousands were expelled from Austria. Many of the expelled Dark Wizards fled to Poland, Russia, and later southern and eastern Germany.

As the Shreaking Pox epidemics devastated Europe in the mid-14th century, annihilating more than a half of the Wizarding populations of England and France, Dark Wizards were taken as scapegoats. Rumors spread that they caused the disease by deliberately poisoning Light Wizards. Hundreds of Dark communities were destroyed by violence in the Shreaking Pox persecutions. Although the International Confederation of Wizards tried to protect the Dark, by July 6, 1348, 900 Dark wizards were burnt alive in Strasbourg, where the pox hadn't yet affected the city.

In the Light controlled countries of England, France, Holland, Switzerland, and Italy, Dark wizard were required to live only in specified neighborhoods. Until the 1840s, they were required to send their children to attend Light schools. In a reversing of tactics in the 1260s it became illegal for dark wizards and witches to marry light wizards and witches.

In the 19th and (before the end of Lord Grindelwald's reign) 20th centuries, the International Confederation of Wizards adhered to a distinction between "good anti dark sentiments" and "bad anti-dark sentiments".

The "bad" kind promoted hatred of Dark Wizards because of their descent. This was considered un-Light because the Light message and magic was intended for all of wizard king regardless of blood status; anyone could now use Light magic because of the forced intermarriage of the Blood Wars. It was the belief of light wizards that dark wizards should abstain from using their "evil" Magic and choose to only cast light spells.

The "good" kind criticized dark wizard, it focused on conspiracies theories that the Dark control newspapers, banks, and other institutions, to care only about accumulation of wealth, etc. A detailed account of Light wizards employing this form of fear-mongerting is found in historian Damion Kertzer's book 'Press, Coins, Politics and Propaganda'

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading my story! I am ecstatic that you are going on this journey with me. Please be advised that I do occasionally have spelling/grammar errors. I am doing my best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. It was a lot of setup but the story takes off soon. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!


	3. Hogwarts without Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Hermione and Ron experience Hogwarts in the wake of Harry's kidnapping, Remus leaves Hogwarts and seeks out a pack to take him in, Hermione and Snape research a way to find Harry... and have another fight.

When Ron and Hermione came down from Gryffindor tower at noon the next day, it was to find an almost deserted castle. The sweltering, heat and the end of the exams meant that everyone was taking full advantage of another Hogsmeade visit.  
News of the capture of Harry Potter by the notorious murderer Sirius Black had quickly spread throughout the castle but had even more quickly spread to the news outlets. The Daily Prophet had printed a full-page article preceded by a front page featuring two photographs, one of Harry Potter, obviously taken while he was standing on the platform waiting for the Hogwarts express, and the other the mug shot of Sirius Black. The interesting thing was, the paper didn't quite know how to report the strange and mysterious events of the previous night. If there hadn't been a body, then there would have been no issue with reporting the kidnapping as the devastating act of a madman succeeding in getting his pray. But with the decaying corpse of a very adult Peter Pettigrew in the morgue of Saint Mungo's Hospital, it was quite clear that there was more to the story than what the readily accepted facts seemed to be telling. The article had been more of a collection of wild speculation and hearsay then a narrative of the night's events.

After reading the unhelpful article, neither Ron nor Hermione felt like going to Hogsmeade with the rest of their classmates. Instead they decided to visit Hagrid, who had also lost someone in the drama of the previous night. Buckbeak had died at the end of an executioner's axe, and Hagrid's sobbing in his hut a could be heard from the castle.

"Know I shou' be saving my tears for 'Arry, bu- , after wha' happened las' night," he said. "I mean, Buck die-in', an, everythin' - but"

"No." Hermione said resolutely. "We will find Harry and bring him back, but you lost Buckbeak forever last night, you have a right to be upset Hagrid."

"Is n' like I don' feel terrible about wha' happened to 'Arry." Hagrid said with new tears pouring down over his enormous face.

"We know Hagrid. But Harry will be alright. He's the boy who lived! The whole ministry will be after Black now!" Said Ron trying to reassure himself as much as Hagrid.

"Yeah, dat they will." Hagrid said with a far away expression. Then as if remembering something out of the blue, he looked with wild eyes at them and said, "Did y'all hear about Professor Lupin?"

"No, what about him?" Ron asked.

"Blimey, yeh haven' heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was no one else in the cabin. Not that anyone else would fit. "Been sacked hasn' he?"

Hermione and Ron gasped. "No!" They said in unison.

Hagrid nodded gravely. "He's clearin' out his office right now. One o' the Hufflepuff students parents found out that he was a werewolf and went to the Headmaster 'bout it. Dumbledore sacked him on the spot."

Hermione and Ron shared a fearful expression. "He can't have? He is the best defense professor we have ever had!" Ron said.

"But it was bound to come out sooner or later wasn't it? I mean if I was able to figure it out-" Hermione said.

Ron cut her off, "But not everyone is as clever as you, Hermione." He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Well, I think I will go see him." Hermione said.

"Why? Fancy him like you did Lockhart?" Ron joked. Though he looked a little angry at the idea.

"No, I just thought it the right thing to do. He did save us from a murderer." Hermione pointed out.

"Right, well that's gotta be worth something, hasn't it?" Ron said sheepishly.

Twenty minutes later Hermione found herself at the door of Professor Lupin's office. She lifted her hand to knock but as soon as her fist made contact with the wood the door swung open at her feather touch.

"Professor?" She asked before peaking her head around the door. The office was in boxes. It appeared as though he had already managed to pack most of his things. The grindylows' empty tank stood next to his battered old suitcase, which was open and nearly full. What it was full of, was shrunken down boxes stuffed to the brim with books, scrolls, and instruments. Upon hearing Hermione's voice he folded up the parchment he had been poring over on his desk and slipped it into one of the boxes.

"Hello Hermione." He said with a sad smile.

"Hello Professor," she said with a returned smile. "I have just been with Hagrid. He said that you were leaving?" She asked, her concern clear on her face.

"Yes, it appears I have been found out." Seeing her intensified worry, he added, "It won't be so bad. I have been on my own before. It's not like I had high hopes I would break the curse that was on this position." He said giving her a roguish wink.  
He opened a drawer of his desk and started meticulously removing its contents and placing them almost lovingly into a crisp white box. Hermione watched him for a moment, thinking.

"It isn't more than that is it?" At his raised eyebrow she continued, "What I mean to say is, the Ministry, they don't think you were somehow involved? Not that you were, it's just… you were the one to find us and you were friends with Sirius Black in school."  
The already sickly looking man seem to grow even more pale at her words. "No… Nothing like that."

She was quiet for a moment. "Professor? Where will you go? Will you get another teaching job?" She asked, knowing that he couldn't but not wanting to admit it to herself.

"No, I think now that I am known, I will not be able to get much work teaching…" Or anything else he added to himself.

"For what it's worth, you were an amazing professor." She said with a sad smile.

"And you, my dear, are the cleverest which of your age I have ever met." He said returning her smile and repeating words that he had said once before.

There was a knock on the door. Hermione turned to see who it was. She was surprised to see Professor Snape. "Your carriage is at the gate, Remus," he said.

"Thank you, Severus." Remus said graciously, picking up his old suitcase an empty tank.

"Well - good-bye, Hermione," he said, smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure we'll meet again sometime. Severus, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage..."

Hermione had the impression that Lupin wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

Percy had got his top-grade N.E.W.T.s; Fred and George had scraped a handful of O.W.L.s each. Gryffindor House, meanwhile, largely thanks to their spectacular performance in the Quidditch Cup, had won the house championship for the third year running. Despite their victory the end of term feast was a uniquely somber event. The Gryffindor table seemed to not find any cheer in the decorations of scarlet and gold that hung from the walls. They had lost one of their own. The mild fear that plagued the lions seems to have spread to the other tables with the singular exception of the Slytherins.

Hermione didn't know quite what to do. She wanted so desperately not to go home. She didn't want to go back to the muggle world and be surrounded by people who didn't know that Harry Potter had just been kidnapped. She wanted to help. She wanted to find a way to get her best friend back. She had never been great at making friends and she had made a great friend in Harry. Her musings were brought to an abrupt end when after the meal Dumbledore rose to his feet.

The students filling the great hall had not been as boisterous as they typically would have been at the end of term feast, but nevertheless the students quieted down considerably as their headmaster stood. Every face turned to Albus Dumbledore. There eyes were fixed on him as though searching for answers in his wrinkled face.

"The end," said Dumbledore, looking around at them all, "of another year."

He paused and his eyes seemed to lock with Hermione's and then moved over slightly to give a sad look at Ron. Theirs were obviously the most somber faces in the crowd, but their sadness was shared with the rest of their house and many at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. "There is much I could say, but I wish to acknowledge our shared loss, not just of a fine student, nor a friend, but of a symbol of light in a very dark world. We have lost one of our own this year. Harry Potter was stolen from us, but he will not be lost to us for long. I have confidence that we will bring him back and he will sit in this hall again. His capture has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about."  
Any head that had been turned snapped around to stare up at the headmaster.

"Harry Potter was kidnapped by Sirius Black, a known death eater, who lured him away from the Hogwarts grounds by exploiting his friendship with one of his classmates. The Ministry Dementors were unable to protect Mr. Potter and will be removed before the start of next term. In their place Aurors will be sent to watch over the school. Why do we need this continued protection? Because it is my belief that Lord Voldemort is assembling his forces yet again."

Every face in the great hall was staring at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence.

"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore continued, "does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so — either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Harry was kidnapped by merely a madman without orders would be an insult. It is my belief — and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken — that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. We must unite against the darkness. We must be a beacon of light in the coming storm. We must study and prepare ourselves for what is coming. When you go home to your families this Summer, I want you to remember a boy that can not. I want you to remember a boy that saved the Magical world. I want you to remember Harry Potter and not give up hope. For hope is our greatest strength against uncertain times."

Ron's trunk was packed. Ron, and Hermione were waiting in the crowded entrance hall with the rest of the fourth years for the carriages that would take them back to Hogsmeade station. It was another beautiful summer's day. Ron was not looking forward to another Summer at home. The once cheery house had become somber after Ginny was trapped in the diary.

Hermione was once again thinking about how she wanted to stay in the castle at help find Harry, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Albus Dumbledore looking down grandfatherly at her. "Miss Granger? May I have a word?"  
"Of course headmaster, but the train…" Hermione said confused.

"Yes, my dear, but I do not believe you will be needing it." His eyes twinkled. Her request had been granted. She was getting to stay.

Ten minutes later, Hermione sat in a plush upholstered chair in Dumbledore's office sipping at her tea. The warm steam rose off the surface of the amber liquid and she inhaled deeply it's sweet sent. It was warm and the heat of it pooled in her stomach making her feel safe and calm, after a period of extream unrest. She was overwhelmingly worried about Harry and couldn't help feeling that there had to be more that she could do to help find him. She knew logically that their must be other, older, more qualified people working to bring her best friend home, but she still wanted to do her part. She knew she could be useful, if the headmaster would only give her a chance and here she sat in his office and not on the train with the other students. It looked like he was going to give her that chance.

Dumbledore did not drink his tea but rather let it sit untouched on his desk as he surveyed the young muggle born witch in front of him. She could be useful. She was very close to Harry, his best friend. She was also unreasonably intelligent and eager to prove herself to authority. He had written her parents the day prior and informed them that Hermione was being offered an apprenticeship by the school. She would be helping himself and a few other professors on a research project. They had agreed quickly, thanking him for the wonderful opportunity he was offering their little girl. They were so proud.

"Hermione, I would like to offer you the opportunity to remain here at the school over the summer to help me with find Harry." Dumbledore said smoothly. He took a lemon drop from a crystal bowl on his desk and offered one to the young witch.  
"Oh thank you, Professor! But I will have to get permission from my parents. They are expecting me. They may already be on their way to the train station." Hermione said her face turning from excitement to worry.

"I have already written to your parents explaining that you have been offered an internship here at the school for the duration of the summer holidays. They seemed to think that it would be good for you." Dumbledore explained, his eyes twinkling.  
"Oh thank you! I won't let you down sir." Hermione said, her once large teeth sparkling as she smiled.

"I could not imagine that you would. Now, we must start by dividing the work between ourselves. Professors Mcgonagall and Snape will be working with us. Minerva and I will be searching locations where Sirius Black has been known to have lived, hidden, or been seen. Severus will be researching a way to locate Harry weather by magic or by information. And I would like you to attempt to contact Harry. Your task may be very difficult so, should you require help and I am out of the castle I urge you to go to professor Snape." The headmaster explained.

"Yes sir." Hermione said happily looking forward to a summer of real, important, helpful, work.

The headmaster had told them to combine their efforts. Until now, Hermione had been studying on her own in the library and Professor Snape have been working in his lab. She wasn't quite sure what exactly he was working on. If there was some potion that could locate Harry, surely you could just look it up and make it. So, why was he spending so much time pouring over books and scribbling things out? Did he not know of the potion? Was there not a potion that could help? If there wasn't. Why wouldn't he simply come up to the library and help her with her research? He seemed a very stubborn and cold man. Perhaps he simply didn't want the company, or more likely didn't want the company of a girl of fourteen.

But here they were, studying together. Hermione could barely see him between the wall of books they had amassed in the center of their table. She had pulled a great deal of books on location spells, mapping spells, tracking spells, but she hadn't found anything that had worked yet. She tested several, but it didn't seem that Harry was somewhere trackable. Perhaps he was in a place like Hogwarts that was unplottable. She had attempted to ask the professor questions about what she was reading several times but it only received grunts or sneers in response. She was getting more and more frustrated with them. Yes, he was her professor and it was her duty as a student to respect him, but he was being downright rude. They were supposed to be working on this together weren't they?

"Why do you hate me professor?" Hermione asked out of frustration. She was sick of this. She was sick of being treated like some dunderhead in her first year potions class that had just blown up her cauldron. She wasn't unintelligent. How could every professor she had ever had to call her clever and yet this man insisted upon her stupidity?

"I don't hate you, Miss Granger, I simply believe you are a terrible student." Professor Snape said calmly not looking up from his book.

Hermione was now seething in rage. How could he say that? Was he just trying to rile her up? Weren't they supposed to be working together on this? Was it more important to the dungeon bat to insult her then to find Harry? Maybe he was a death eater, maybe Harry and Ron had been right all this time.

"Do you want to know why you're a terrible student?" Professor Snape said snapping his book shut and glaring daggers at the most frustrating student he had taught in a decade. Even Neville Longbottom was less you're dating then Hermione Granger. At least the Longbottom boy was actively inapt. Hermione Granger simply wasn't trying.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "I am sure you have an adequate reason for insulting me, professor." She said ever polite.

"I do." He started.

Hermione cut him off before he could give a full answer, "That is rich! A terrible student! Ha! I have the top marks in all my classes! What reason could you possibly have other then simple hatred of Gryffindors?"

"Yes, you Gryffindors really are quick to assign house prejudice to anyone who doesn't grovel at your feet. For your information, Miss Granger, Draco Malfoy he has the top marks in your class and potions." Professor Snape informed her.  
"That's only because he's your favorite! Your favorite little son of a death eater! He is in your house! It's just favoritism!" Hermione ranted.

"It isn't , He is simply better than you are. He thinks. All you do is read the book and do what it says. You are a waste. You may not be blowing up cauldrons, but your potions will never add anything to our world if all you do is copy the work of others." Snape growled out.

"We were never told to improvise! You didn't teach us that! You gave us the book, the book had the recipes, you put the instructions on the board and you let us go." Hermione defended herself.

"And yet students that actually show some initiative, like Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Cho Chang actually managed to read between the lines of the book and figure out where the student manual is making the potion less volatile and easier to work on for nitwitted students. They think about the ingredients and how they're going to react to one another. They study the elements of the potion and their intended effects. They devise a way to make it better and experiments in class. You just follow the book. The worst part is you are in a school where that is not only acceptable but you are praised for it. You are like some Muggle working in a factory just performing the motions by wrote." He was seething now.

He had wanted to tell her all of this since he had first met her, the little show off bookworm. He had tried to be subtle, he had tried to be helpful, but she didn't listen. How many times had he told her that memorizing the words out of the textbook didn't count? Instead of taking his criticism to heart and actually learning and absorbing the material, thinking about it critically, and coming to her own conclusions she had simply brushed him off as acting out of house prejudice. Howmoronicly childish she think he was? He couldn't care less about the house rivalries. He had more than enough to worry about just trying to keep students from blowing up the castle or poisoning one another.  
Hermione felt very put in her place. She had never been spoken to like that before.  
Hermione lay flat on her back, breathing hard as though she had been running. She had awoken from a vivid dream but the images were all slipping away now. There had been a mirror, lots of mirrors, and terrifying red eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. She had had the dream several times before. It was a memory of the basilisk that had petrified her at the end of her second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It surprised her that the nightmares hadn't been replaced with images of the Shrieking Shack, the location of the abduction of her best friend, and Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter. She thought that perhaps even it was because on some level she felt that he might be safe. If Sirius Black really was Harry's father... She shook her head to dislodge those thoughts. It didn't matter. She had been tasked with the mission of finding a way to reach him and that was what she was going to do. If he was fine, then he would write back and explain. Or they could meet, he could come back to school...  
Hermione ran her fingers down her face. She sat up and reached around on the nightstand for her hair band. She turned on the lamp, scrambled out of bed, crossed the room, opened her trunk and pulled out a neatly folded stack of robes, shirt, skirt, and stockings. Once she was dressed she walked over to the full-length mirror that hung on the far wall of the fourth year Gryffindor girls dormitory, and peered into her reflection.  
A thin, but blossoming girl of fourteen looked back at her, her dark chestnut eyes gleaming with unrestrained intelligence under untamed tresses of light brown hair. "Better pull back that hair dear, it's a bit humid today." Her reflection advised.  
She smiled politely at the mirror-Hermione and took her advice, pulling her wild and curly hair up into a simple ponytail.

She examined her reflection for a moment longer before picking up her bag and heading down to breakfast. The castle was amazingly different in the summer than it was during the school year. Only a handful of teachers stayed behind, the majority choosing to travel or return home to their families during the break.

When she entered the great hall she was greeted warmly by the headmaster who was sitting at the singular table in the middle of the room with Professor Snape, the Potions Master, and Professor Mcgonagall, the Transfiguration Professor. If this morning was anything like the last three they would shortly be joined by a few others, but Snape and Dumbledore seemed to enjoy an earlier breakfast than the other professors.  
"Good morning Headmaster, Professor Snape." She said politely taking a seat two down from Snape.

Dumbledore gave her a cheery eye sparkling wave, not wanting the large fork full of eggs to escape his over stuffed mouth. Snape grunted and gave a short nod.

After the headmaster theatrically swallowed his bite and took a swig of pumpkin juice he said, "Ah, Miss Granger, good morning. A rather useful instrument in my office informed me that you were in the Library until well past midnight, my dear. You should take care to get to your bed earlier, sleep is very important at your age."

"Yes, Headmaster, sorry sir. I just couldn't put the book I was reading down." Hermione apologized.

"Did you find something helpful?" The headmaster asked looking interested.

"Oh yes! Truly fascinating. I'm currently trying to find Harry by tracking post owls. As you know I have sent a few letters to Harry, all by different owls. They all came back unable to deliver their post. The first one went South towards London and then the tracking charm broke. So I don't know what happened to it after that. The second one didn't come back at all. And the third one seems to have been confunded. The tracking amulet I sent with it is linked to a map..." She reached in her bag and pulled out a crude hand drawn map of Europe on a neatly folded piece of parchment. "and it appears to have gone in circles before heading back to Hogwarts." She pointed to the map that showed a red line from England across the channel and then odd loops across the continent.

Snape peered over at the parchment. That was a rather impressive bit of magic for a fourth year. It was rather similar to the Marauder's Map, if a bit crudely drawn. "Did you get the idea from Potter's map?" Snape asked, his voice revealing a bit of his genuine interest.

"Yes, sir." She said nodding. "Hogwarts can't show up on the map though, it's unplottable. So the owls just start off in the countryside."

"Excellent work, my dear." Dumbledore said reaching out for the parchment and looking it over more closely.

Hermione looked confused. "But it didn't work."

"Ah, but often times even failed experiments lead to great discoveries, wouldn't you agree Severus?" Dumbledore answered.

"That is how most potions are made for the first time, through countless failed attempts." Snape said sounding oddly un-irritated.

Dumbledore nodded. "You see, Miss Granger, the first owl went to London. Sirius Black's parents owned a townhouse in London. I suspect they went their first for a short time. Unfortunately the property is hidden, much like this castle is from muggles."  
Snape picked up the conversation when Dumbledore ate a large bite of sausage. "The second owl may have been trapped by the wards of a Wizarding house. It was likely killed in the attempt to deliver its message, or else transported somewhere very far away."  
Dumbledore nodded. "But it is the third owl that tells us the most."

"But it just got lost!" Hermione interrupted.

The headmaster swallowed a gulp of pumpkin juice. "It didn't! It went to the continent first!" He paused and allowed his eyes to sparkle at her for a moment while she made the connections.  
"So, you think he is on the continent, they have left England?" Hermione asked.

The aged wizard nodded his head. "That unfortunately only makes our job of finding them harder. We had been operating under the assumption that they would remain in England, but if they are on the continent than we have a much larger landmass to search."

~.~.~

The weeks of the Summer had passed by uneventfully for a captor and his kidnaped son. They rode brooms, talked into the night about the books Harry was reading and generally got along well.

Everything was going great... During the day. At night Harry was plagued by dreams of a dark haired teen.

Harry woke up for the third day in a row with his scar hurting. He thought about telling Sirius but he didn't know how to explain it. It would just encourage Sirius anyway, make him think that he really was going to be connected to Voldemort.  
He tried to imagine his best friend, Ron Weasley's,reaction, and in a moment, Ron's red hair and long-nosed, freckled face seemed to swim before Harry, wearing a bemused expression."Your scar hurt? But . . . but You-Know-Who can't be near you now, can he? I mean . . . you'd know, wouldn't you? He'd be trying to do you in again, wouldn't he? I dunno, Harry, maybe curse scars always twinge a bit. . . . I'll ask Dad. . . ."

Mr. Weasley was a fully qualified wizard who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, but he didn't have any particular expertise in the matter of curses, as far as Harry knew. In any case, Harry didn't like the idea of the whole Weasley family knowing that he, Harry, was getting jumpy about a few moments' pain. Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione, and Fred and George, Ron's sixteen-year-old twin brothers, might think Harry was losing his nerve. The Weasleys were Harry's favorite family in the world; he had been hoping that they might invite him to stay with them, that was before he was kidnapped.

Harry kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. What he really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to himself) was someone like — someone like a parent: an adult wizard whose advice he could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about him, who had had experience with Dark Magic. . . ."Damn it."

Harry called for a house elf, Turvey popped into the room, and asked where Black was. The house elf said that he had gone out. He had never left the manor without telling Harry or taking Harry. It was likely nothing, maybe he left all the time. While Harry was asleep and this was just the first time Harry had woken up before he got back. Harry asked for a quill and parchment and scribbled a note for Turvey to deliver to Black for him.

"You know that morning that you came in with the books for the first time? Remember how my scar was hurting? My scar hurt again. Last time it REALLY hurt it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward? Can we talk when you get back? -Harry"

The house elf folded the note, placed it in an envelope and magically sealed it with the Black seal so only someone with Black blood could open and read it. Finished, she popped out of the room, off to deliver the message in her charge.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Another morning, another breakfast with the few professors that remained in the castle over the summer holidays. Hermione sat eating her eggs and pushing her creamed spinach around her plate. She was thinking about the fight she had gotten into with Snape in the library. Could it really be true? Could there really be students in the school that simply tried harder than she did, that were smarter than she was, that thought more creatively? She wanted to believe that he was making it up. She wanted to believe that he just hated her and was trying to hurt her. She had to admit to herself that that was assuming a level of childishness that it was unlikely the professor, who had to be in his early 30s, was capable of. Still, he was a right git.

She was interrupted from her musings when the post owls that had whittled themselves down from hundreds every morning to only one or two flew in through an open window near the enchanted ceiling. A simple school barn owl landed on the table in front of her plate of eggs. It had with it a copy of the Daily Prophet. She had been subscribing to the newspaper ever since school headlight out and it became harder to come by. There really was no reason to subscribe during the school year as there were at least 10 copies floating around the gryffindor cable every morning. She paid the owl over to get some of her eggs, which it's packed at gratefully. She unbound the newspaper and rolled it out.

Across the front page was the face of Sirius Black looking out at her with wild mad eyes, next to a picture of Peter Pettigrew lying facedown and presumably dead on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. The aurors had taken a vial of her and Ron's memories (after Dumbledore had prepared them) and she assumed the memory must have been shared with the press. She wondered how they were able to extract the image for syndication. Her eyes darted to the flashing headline.

PETTIGREW DEAD.  
BLACK CLEARED OF MURDER, WANTED FOR MURDER AGAIN!  
HARRY POTTER MISSING.

The article seemed to be complete rubbish. The story they were telling seemed to circle around the accounts they had given the aurors. The papers did seem to get it right that Pettigrew was the one who had truly betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort. The Aurors had found him with his Dark Mark still clearly displayed on his forearm. This had the convoluted effect of clearing Black of the original murder, while simultaneously making Black both a hero for avenging the their saviors' parents' death, and a monstrous madman for kidnapping the savior of the wizarding world, and killing a man that had been given an Order of Merlin. All in all, the paper didn't seem to know what to think. The paper made it abundantly clear that the British Ministry wanted Harry back, but it didn't say how they were going about finding him. Hermione wondered what the real authorities were doing to find her friend and return him to them.

Snape, who was sitting two empty seats down from her, looked up from his identical paper. "It's like they don't know what to make of him. Worthless rag can't even spot a villain when he is dropped on their doorstep wrapped in fairy ribbons."

Hermione choked back a giggle. Had the Potions Master just made a joke? Surely not. Maybe she had been spending too much time with him.

Approximately two hundred miles south and just a tad east of Hogwarts sat Remus Lupin in the dirt. He had just been thrown there by the alpha of the third pack he had tried. It was exceedingly difficult to join a wolf pack. The strongest packs were strong because they excluded as many shelter seekers as possible. It seemed cruel, but it was simple survival. If a strong pack took in too many poor or weak members their resources would be stretched too thin and their prosperity would be threatened. In wolf packs it was extremely difficult to gain any prosperity at all, so once they had it, protecting it was of the utmost importance.

Still, he felt it was a bit short sided to throw him out of the den before even hearing him out. He may not have much money to offer, but he was magically strong and a good teacher. That had to count for something.

Everything had been so much easier when Jame was alive. For a time Remus had lived in a flat in London that was paid for out of the Potter vaults. He hated feeling like a beggar, but it was better than returning to his parents' home. His father may have lightened up a bit after he was turned, but the man had made a life and a career out of hating magical creatures. That was why he had been turned after all. His father was Lyall Lupin. During the prelude to the First Wizarding War he was called on by the Ministry of Magic for his expertise where Dark creatures were concerned. He was asked to help contain the threat, and eventually he joined the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. His father rose within the ranks and became a very powerful man by restricting the rights and privileges of magical creatures in Britain. His rise in the political sphere was significantly curtailed after a retaliatory attack by Fenrir Greyback had led to Remus himself being inflicted with lycanthropy. His father must have known it was irrational to blame Remus, a child of five years old, but Remus had always felt as though his father resented him. Every month there was a terrible reminder of what his son had become, a symbol of everything he hated in the magical world. Every month he had to lock his son in the cellar so he wouldn't kill himself and his wife. Every month he had to heal the numerous self inflicted injuries that the caged animal had acquired.

Remus's mother was a Muggle woman, Hope Howell. She had worked in and insurance office in Cardiff before she met her husband. Before she died she had loved telling Remus the story of how she had met her 'magic man', as she affectionately called Lyall. She had been in the forest and accidentally stumbled upon what she had not known at the time to be a bogart. It had taken the form of a large and vicious looking man. She had screamed in terror and been rescued by a strange man carrying a little wooden stick that she later found to be a wand. Her hero turned the terrifying man into a mushroom cap and escorted her home. It had taken him months of courting her before he finally confessed that the bogart had posed no real danger. She had found his confession so charming that she agreed to marry him. She even commemorated their meeting by placing a specially ordered can't stopper on their wedding cake featuring Lyall saving her from a large and imposing figure.

His mother had been a joyful, wonderful woman that brought out the absolute best and his father. When she had died after the first war Remus and his father had all but suspended interaction. Remus had not received a letter from his father in years. He couldn't blame the man entirely, he hadn't written either. Still, one would think it would be the father's place to reach out to his son. Parents were meant to love their children unconditionally and his father's love had always been very conditional. He couldn't return home. He didn't know for sure that he would be turned away, but he didn't want to find out. He wanted to believe that it was out of his own stubbornness that he didn't return, not out of his father's refusal to accept him.

So he had gone from pack to pack searching for an alpha that would see his usefulness and take a chance on him. Eventually, he had to find someone willing to take him in. He had saved as much of his earnings from Hogwarts as he could, but it wouldn't last too long without guaranteed shelter and food.

He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his robes as much as he could. He started looking for his wand on the ground. It had come out of his hand on impact. He found it in a clumping of thick, coarse, dry grass. At least it wasn't broken. A new wand would have consumed too much of his gold.

There was an obvious solution, he could challenge one of the alphas and gain entrance into the pack through blood right. He wasn't willing to do that. He hated killing, he hated useless macho killings even more. Perhaps the next alpha would be more intelligent and less… meat headed.

Remus apparated away in a cloud of gray smoke. He landed in a similar pillar of smoke in a clearing in the woods. He was greeted by a loud growling sound coming at him from every direction. Instead of apparating in the woods and approaching the pack, he had inadvertently landed in the center of their den. This could be a problem.

Remus very cautiously kneeled down and placed his wand on the ground beside him. He kept his head bowed and stared at the moss covered dirt beneath his feet. "I mean you no harm, my name is Remus. I am packless and seek an audience with your Alpha."  
Though he could only see her boots, a woman approached him and said in a clear and authoritative voice, "I am Alpha."

Remus did not look up but remained very still and very passive. "May I speak with you, Alpha?"

She took a moment before she spoke. Remus imagined her surveying him. Was she turned off by his tattered robes? The dirt covering them? His clumsy and inelegant entrance into her den? "Stand up and follow me, wolf." He stood carefully picking up his wand from the ground to shove it in his pocket. "No. Leave it on the ground."

A very real shiver of fear ran up his spine. "Yes, Alpha." He kept his eyes down and watched his wand as he walked away from it for as long as he could. Would the others grab it? Would they snap it? Would he ever see it again? He felt vulnerable in a way he hoped to never feel again. He didn't know the magical strength of the Alpha but her physical strength seemed more than enough. Although he could only see her legs from his downcast stance, he could tell those legs were powerful, far beyond the power of the average female. For a woman to gain a position as alpha she would likely have killed several men that stood in her way.

He chanced a quick look up and saw a neatly done braid of thick brunette hair swinging as she walked. The end of the braid bounced lightly off her tight, firm buttocks encased in a tight pair of what appeared to be dragonhide pants. Her ensemble was probably the most expensive thing this pack possessed. Was it a present from her pack? Was it stolen? Won in a fight? He was surprised by the sturdiness of the woman. She wasn't thin and athletic but rather powerfully built. She was muscular though she retained her womanly curves. He really hoped she did not force him into a physical altercation. He doubted he would have much success in a Muggle dual. He was brought out of his thoughts when she gruffly through over her shoulder, "Keep your eyes on the dirt, Wolf."

"My apologies, Alpha." Remus said quickly.

When they reached the shabby tent constructed of burlap fabric hung between nearby trees, Remus had to look up again as he walked through the curtain like doors. The dwelling was modest... It was beyond modest, it was a show of the pack's poverty. Some pack masters lived in lush silk tents and had fine furnishings. This was not one of those tents. This was barely a shelter at all. Remus could see the mold growing on the north fabric wall. There were no furnishings except a hand made cot of sticks and straw.  
The alpha indicated that he should sit on the ground and he did, kneeling down with his hands loosely clasped behind his back and his head down. "You show more reverence than I would expect from a wizard as powerful as you, Mr. Lupin."  
Remus was not shocked by her knowing his name. After his outing there had been a small blurb in the papers. A wolf didn't warrant more than that. Nevertheless he was famous, famous for something that didn't include murdering or turning innocents. That was impressive. For a wolf.

"If I take you in, you will pay me back for ... my generosity by teaching our wolves that have the gift. We have very few wolves that can do magic, but those that can could benefit from your fancy school ways." She said. Her own lack of education became evident the more she spoke. She sounded as though she was putting effort into finding the correct wording. Perhaps she simply didn't speak much.

"Yes, Alpha." Remus said.

"Go then. Find the pups. Teach them something useful." She said and he could hear a wicked smile on her lips.

"You have pups here?" Remus asked before he could stop himself. Werewolves didn't reproduce often. Not many wanted to pass the infliction on to their children. In packs, only the alphas were allowed to reproduce. Remus felt ashamed of himself for assuming that the stocky woman was unmated.

"Yes, I have born three pups for my pack and my mate. They will be strong and with your help, they will be powerful." She explained and he understood. Well, he could teach for his supper again as long as it meant he could eat.  
This was apparently another day in which Snape would be joining Hermione in the library rather than locking himself up in his potions lab. She had learned to dislike the company. If he wasn't silent and ignoring her, He was loud and belittling her. Now that school was over their polite and cordial relationship of students and professor had melted away into the hostile relationship of two people who simply did not like each other.

So, here she sat in the library, once again, behind a roll of books that separated herself from her professor. She didn't know exactly what he was researching. She wanted to tell herself that she didn't care, but it was a lie. She was dying to know what it was that he was trying to discover in books that seemed completely unrelated to finding Harry. She, herself, was working on discovering a means to get the owls to stop flying in circles once they got to the continent. She had sent a dozen owls by now and none of them had been successful.

She looked up from her book on above surface lay lines and their effects on air travel and casually stared at her professor. When he didn't think anyone was looking at him he let his hateful sneer fall away and his face was actually quite pleasant to look at. He was by no means handsome, but he was far less intimidating when he wasn't wearing an expression that made you feel as though you were a cockroach on the hem of his robes.

What in the world was he looking for? She couldn't see the title of his book from her position behind the small wall of books. It was large and very old and not unlike the stack of 10 books next to him. He sat quietly reading every once in a while scratching something into a small notebook to The side of the table. She remarked that he was exceedingly neat. His stack of books was perfectly lined up and in descending size by surface area. The book he read was at an exact perpendicular angle to the stack of books and the notebook equidistant from each other. His ink set similarly equidistance from his notebook to the right and when he wasn't reading his quill was purposefully sat on the table in a perfect right angle from the edge of the table and once again equidistant from the ink jar. She had never noticed in class this particular level of fussiness, but in class she had never had time to notice much of anything about the professor other than whether or not he was going to deduct points from herself, Ron, or Harry.

Although they were silent now, they had already had one fight today. She couldn't exactly remember what had started it, but it ended up being about a Muggle born stereotypical misunderstanding of the relationships between wizards and magical creatures of lower intelligence, like owls. Hermione had at one point brought up that although they seemed for the most part to be well treated, many of the domesticated magical animals appeared to have a higher level of intelligence than non-magical animals and thus she questioned whether or not it was ethical for wizards to keep them as pets. She, herself, had a cat that she believed to have a higher intelligence than either Crab or Goyle and, although it could be argued that Draco Malfoy I kept them as pets, she debated with herself whether or not keeping Crookshanks as a pet was ethical.

Snape had been almost disgusted by this line of thought. Or… Was he insulted? She couldn't really tell. He definitely did not agree with her. He had explained that it wasn't that they were kept as pets like a Muggle would keep a dog. They were kept as familiars, something almost like a human friend though there was a level of ownership. She had pointed out the correlation between that statement and slavery, and he had gotten very upset. Apparently there had been a point in wizarding history in which wizards themselves had been enslaved and slavery, beyond the care of house elves, was seen as a crime against the world in general. Their little tiff had been cut short with Professor Dumbledore had come down to check on their progress. Neither of them were willing to fight openly in front of him.

"If you keep staring at me, Miss Granger, I will not be able to finish my reading and will thus be stuck in your presence even longer." The deep silky voice of her professor stated, waking her from her remembrance.  
"My apologies, Professor. I seem to have reached a bit of a wall in my research." Hermione explained.

"And naturally staring at me will help you find the book with the right answer." Snape sneered not looking up from his own book as he casually turned a page.

Hermione's cheeks were red. "No. I was simply staring in front of myself and you happened to be in the way." She said using a line that had been used by every person caught staring at another for millennia.  
"Often times a fresh direction can spark creative thought. Why not choose a book at random to clear your mind?" Severus said helpfully.

Hermione looked around the deserted library. She could feel the trap in front of her. He had made it quite clear that he did not believe her to be a creative thinker. She knew that were she to grab a book at random she would simply know the information within it and be able to recall it when needed, but it was unlikely that it would spark any connection to Harry's plight. She toyed with the hem of her ropes, right between her collarbone, just over the time turner that was slipped under them. It had become a nervous tick. She didn't notice, but the movement caught Severus's eye.

She did notice his skin go red, but this was not the rosy cheeks of embarrassment. Rather this was the red heated skin of deep anger. Whether the emotion was quick to rise in the Potions Master or whether it had been brewing all day she didn't know, but it exploded now.

"You sit there and say that you feel smarter than those in your year, but you are cheating! Do you think I don't know about the time turner that still hangs around your neck! You are toying with it now. It's the only explanation for how you were able to get to all of your classes last year and indeed how you plan on attending so many next term!" Severus roared from behind his wall of books. His reading material was slammed back down onto the table not in it's perfect parallel to the other objects but rather haphazardly askew.

The slight blush that have been on her cheeks from when she had been caught staring was now violently red. "It's not cheating... Professor Dumbledore gave it to me! He got special permission from the ministry so that I could take more classes." Hermione said in her own defence.

Snape was standing now, apparently too frustrated to remain sitting calmly three feet away from her. "Yes, and how often did you use it? Did you buy yourself more time to study? To sleep? Did you think the added time would have no affect on you?" Snape spat.

"Of course I used it to study! I couldn't do that much homework and still maintain my grades without it, but no one said that wasn't allowed." Hermione explained looking up at him from her seated position feeling very young and very small compared to the tall looming man.

"Something need not be forbidden to be cheating. How old do you think you are now? And you are still competing with those a year or more younger than you. You call that fair?" Snape asked with a sneer on his face. He was pacing on the other side of the table now his anger turned into energy that needed to be expressed through movement.

"All I did was take a few extra classes!" Hermione screamed in frustration. She was beyond being polite. The man just liked picking fights with her.

"Yes, and gave yourself more time to study, more time to absorb the information, to practice the magic, to allow your magic to mature. I would wager that if I gave you an age test you would be more than a year older than your peers now." Severus explained.  
"What's your point? So what if I am? That still wouldn't give me the advantage that your precious Slytherins have coming from Pureblood homes. I am learning everything for the first time. They will having seen these spells performed dozens of time. I wouldn't put it past most of them to have had tutors, lesson before they even got their letters." Hermione said in a huff.

"You blame parents for wanting to make sure that their children will be accepted into Hogwarts?" Severus asked the younger witch.

"That's ritch. Like a pure blood family would have to worry about their child not being accepted into Hogwarts." Hermione spat with her hands on her hips.

"So much hate in such a pretty package. Tell me, Miss Granger, in all your years at the school did you ever discover what percentage of the Wizarding population actually makes it into these halls?" Severus asked in a silky voice.  
Percentage? There hadn't been anything like that in Hogwarts a History.

"I thought not. Less than one tenth of one percent of the Wizarding population had a magical signature strong enough at age ten to receive a Hogwarts letter at age eleven." Severus continued.

Hermione was shocked. She knew of course that not everyone got to go to the school, but she had no idea there were so many wizards in the world. The idea was difficult to believe.

"Do you know what percentage of Muggle born witches and Wizards obtain Hogwarts letters?" The potions master continued.

She shook her head.

"One hundred percent. Do you know why?" He asked, his voice like slow pouring molasses.

"Because we would be a danger to the muggle world." Hermione said in a small voice sensing the trap. It was the right answer. It was what Professor Mcgonagall had told her parents when she came to deliver her Hogwarts letter.

"No, because every muggle born witch or wizard, rare as they might be, has always had an extremely strong magical signature." Severus purred.

"That doesn't make sense. Purebloods are always shocked that I'm good at magic." Hermione rebuffed.

"They are confused that you should be so good at controlling it. Having magic and being controlled enough to make proper use of it are very different things." Severus explained.

"So why are muggle borns so powerful?" Hermione asked folding her arms over her chest defensively.

"We don't know. Your magic is different than ours, completely unlike that of a light or dark wizard." Severus explained looking at her like he wanted to dissect her.

"How is it different? Isn't magic all the same?" Hermione asked, thirsty for the answer even if she was still upset with the taller man.

Severus laughed a cruel laugh. "Would we be about to go to war if it were? No, a wizard is born with light magic, dark magic, or in your case raw magic. The magic is volatile when the wizard is young and comes out in strange and unpredictable ways. Muggle born magic is harder to control than light or dark magic. Every time one of you is born it is like Magic is making the first wizard again. Your magic is primordial, untamed by generations of control. Many muggle born wizards kill themselves accidentally before making it to this school. It is one of the reasons that the founder of my house was against your inclusion in the school. Young muggle borns are dangerous."

"That's ridiculous, Neville Longbottom is a pureblood and he has blown up far more cauldrons than me." Hermione pointed out.

"But far fewer than Colin Creevey, Penelope Clearwater, Justin Finch-Fletchley, or Terry Boot. Out of the five muggleborn currently or even recently living in this castle you are the only one who has full control of your magic." Severus said in defence of the theory.

"But Harry's mum! She was said to have been very good at magic!" She said pulling at proverbial straws.

"Yes, and she was treated to the same level of confusion that you are treated to now. She didn't fit." Severus agreed.

"It's just prejudice. That's what it is, pureblood prejudice." Hermione said as though pointing out the obvious.

"Muggleborns are less than one fifth of one percent of the population of the Wizarding elite, a statistical abnormality, not a race to be prejudice against. They have been the unsolvable problem of the wizarding world for centuries." Severus explained.  
"Problem!?" Hermione shrieked.

"Yes, Mis Granger. What exactly would you call it? Muggleborns are the only thing preventing the Wizarding world from fully separating itself from the Muggle world. They are also a security risk of massive proportion as every time one of your lot shows off to a muggle they end up hunting us down and burning us alive." Severus said.

"The witch hunts were a long time ago. You can't-" Hermione protested.

Snape spoke over her. "Oh, but I can! Do you think today's muggle scientists would do any less damage with their experiments than priests did burning us at the stake? At least the fires killed us quickly, a far preferable state than that of a caged and humiliated creature."

Hermione wanted desperately to deny it, but she couldn't. It was the obvious outcome of exposure. She wanted to believe that humanity was past all that, but fear was a strong motivator for cruelty.  
"Then why not -" Hermione started.

"Take you when you are younger? Steel you from your mother's arms and Obliviate her into forgetting that she had ever carried you in her womb? Bind the magic of all Muggleborns so they are not a danger to themselves or others? Send you to an island prison where you can live out your days exploring your magic, never able to return to those you knew and loved? Kill you all at the first detection? Please tell me your solution, Miss Granger. I'm sure it couldn't possibly be as crule as the ideas that have been posed in the past." Severus sneered.

Hermione thought there had to be a way to integrate Muggleborns into Wizarding society that didn't breed as much hatred as they faced now.

Severus sighed heavily. "Doing nothing to deal with you and hoping for the best has been the solution for the past few centuries and it has frustrated dark and light wizards alike."

"Light wizards?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"Yes, pureblood light wizards have had issues with Muggleborns in the past as well. The current feeling of the light seems to be, hope for the best, but in past eras they did actually try the island solution. They built a containment colony in the Americas. It was a bit short sided as the Muggles found them and burned them all at the steak."

Hermione looked horrified. "Light wizards did that?" Her voice was just above a whisper.

"Indeed."

The pair was saved the end of their conversation when it was interrupted by an owl that was flying very quickly through the doors to the library as if it was being chased by something. The harassed looking bird deposited its burden in front of the professor and quickly sped off in the direction it had just come from. It's course was only momentarily blocked by Flitch's broom, one of the few instances of such an object being used for its original intention, but the bird dodged the offending object. Flitch was understandable upset by the bird's thwarting of his plan to catch it, or at least cause it some harm in retaliation for entering his castle.

Snape looked down at the newly delivered letter. It was a simple brown envelope with only his name written across the front. He turned it over with the tip of his wand suspiciously. Nothing on the other side either, not even a seal. Typically he would find the wax seal of the family crest of the house of the sender on this side, but instead he found nothing. Who would send such a letter? He waved his wand over it several times before deciding that it was curse free. It definitely had several charms on it, but nothing that seemed to have malicious intent.

Then when he touched it the envelope transformed in front of his eyes to reveal itself as a heavyweight ecru paper envelope with green cursive script spelling out his name on the front and a seal he would never forget on the back. The image of a skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth, the ancient symbol of Aaron of the Wadi. The symbol had been used like a pictograph at the top of the wizard's writings in his own time in northern Egypt. The wizard was widely believed to have been the first parselmouth. The legends said that he spoke for his half brother, the Dark Lord of their generation, when we was turned into a snake by the Light Lord of Egypt. The symbol had been adopted by several Dark Lords, including Lord Voldemort, over the following three millennium.  
So he really was back? Snape looked up at his bushy haired companion. Could she see the change in the letter? She was staring right at it.

His silent question was answered when she spoke, "That letter isn't what it looks like is it? There is a concealment charm on it or something?" She asked.

"Yes... It seems our time together will be ending early today." And without further explanation he left for his office to eagerly read the letter. It was disappointingly not from the Dark Lord directly, but from Lord and Lady Malfoy. It was an invitation to a ball to be held at their chateau in the South of France. So, not only was the Dark Lord back, but he was announcing his return with a flashy ball. Severus wondered how long it would be before he was summoned. Would the Dark Lord wait for the ball? Would he be called before hand? And more importantly would he be punished for remaining at Hogwarts throughout the Dark Lord's absence?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you liked this chapter. I promise that there is a lot more Harry in the next chapter!


	4. Telling Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Hermione and Snape have a fight, Snape and Sirius get summoned by the Dark Lord for the first time and Harry learns some unsettling truths about himself and his destiny.

"Father? May Blaise and I go to the château? Blaise's mother's birthday is next week and we wanted to take the train up to Paris to buy her something nice." Draco asked. Lucius's face went completely white. He had been dreading this. Draco couldn't go to France. Not through the floo to their summer home at least. It was currently housing a teenage Dark Lord and even if the boy seemed perfectly sane and charming, Lucius knew first hand what the boy was capable of. He, himself, had been tortured on numerous occasions for infractions as minor as being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"No Draco. I am afraid the château is off limits this summer. I have a guest staying there at the moment." Lucius said smoothly.

Draco looked very put out at that. Lucius could tell he wanted desperately to throw one of his trademark temper tantrums. Lucius was proud of his son for holding back. "Fine, then can we take a house elf and apparate there?" This was of course the easier option anyways, but it meant more supervision and what fourteen-year-old boy wanted to be babysat by an elf when he went out with his friend?

"Of course, as long as your mother agrees." Lucius said, knowing that his blessing meant far less than that of his lady wife, the true ruler of the household.

"Oh and Draco? Would Blaise like to come to the World Cup with us? We are in the minister's box. He might enjoy the view." Lucius offered his son as a consolation prize.

That cheered him up. Draco's face broke out in a wide grin. "Brilliant! Thank you, Father!"

~.~

Hermione looked up from her paper. The Quidditch World Cup was coming up in the next couple days and she couldn't help feeling a sense of doom. Even if the authorities were not willing to admit it to the public that Voldemort was back, Dumbledore had said it very clearly to several hundred students only a few weeks ago. Surely they knew better. Surely they knew that getting this many wizards together in one place was too tempting for the death eaters to overlook. If the accounts she had read from the last war were a predictor for the type of activity they were likely to get up to, then there would be muggleborns suspended in the air being tortured and who knows what else. How could the ministry be so irresponsible?

She looked up at Snape who was across the breakfast table reading the same article that she was. He looked just about as angry, possibly more so. "It is irresponsible of them isn't it, Professor?"

Perhaps Dumbledore had thought that she had been speaking to him and not the Potions Master, because he interrupted saying, "Not at all, my dear, in dark times like these it is often worth the risk to bring a little joy into the world. The match is after all between Bulgaria and Ireland. A dark country home to many dangerous dark wizards and a light country home to wonderful, glorious freedom. What a better metaphor could we ask for? People from all over the world, dark and light wizards alike, will be coming to gather not in war but in appreciation of a sporting match. What a wonderful way to bring people together."

Hermione noticed Snape raise an eyebrow at that rosy description, but he refrained from saying anything.

"You can't possibly believe what the headmaster said! You are creatively deficient but you are not stupid. A wonderful way to bring people together? A wonderful wait to force them into assimilation! A wonderful way to pit an impoverished country against a wealthy one! A wonderful way to villainize dark wizards when they are doing nothing more than playing a game designed for children. A wonderful way to teach little light wizards that people should be discriminated against not only for their blood status but also for their country of origin!" Snape roared at her from across their table in the library.

"But isn't that the goal? Don't we want everyone to get along? Don't we want there to no longer be light wizards and dark wizards, purebloods and muggleborns... just wizards?" Hermione asked a little scared of the man at the moment.

"No! That is the opposite of what we want! You can't possibly think it would be good to wipe out the cultural identity of multiple different groups of people all for the goal of everyone getting along!" Severus shouted down at her.

"Why not? If it prevents war, if it saves lives! Why not give up a little bit of your cultural identity to save yourselves?" Hermione protested.

"Because, just because something is easier, doesn't mean that it is right! Many dark wizards would die before they gave up being dark wizards! They are proving that by starting up the war again!" Severus fumed.

"Sometimes you really sound like you're for all of this-" She waved her hands around in the air, "All of this violence!" Hermione said exasperatedly.

"I don't have to be willing to slit someone's throat to agree with the political views of someone who is." Severus sneered at the girl.

"I don't even know what that means! Slit someone's throat? You agree with the death eaters? You agree that muggleborns are dangerous? That they should be treated as second-class citizens? You agree with the violence? Do you agree with the killings? Do you agree with the same people who killed Harry's parents?" Hermione asked, looking at the man like she thought he was completely mental now.

"Agree with their actions? No. Of course not. I'm not insane! But do I agree that we should all just become one homogeneous people? That we should give up our history, our culture, our faith to save a couple lives? No! It's not worth it! If the only way to stay alive is to give up who you are then it is a better thing to die!" Severus said in a cold voice.

"Culture? Faith? All the death eater seem to stand for is mindless killing! Rebellion, power, control! That's what their culture is about! That's what you want to protect?" Hermione asked.

"Read a damn book! That is all you're good for anyways, isn't it? Read something about the history of the people before you condemn them all for the actions of radicals." And with that, he stormed off to the restricted section and grabbed several books and thrust them at her. "When you have finished, then you can have this conversation. Right now, you're too ignorant to speak."

He had to get out of there. His arm was burning. He hadn't noticed at first. He had been too angry to notice. Now as he stormed away from the library marching towards the front gates of the castle The lite prickling sensation had escalated to a burning urgency. When he escaped the front doors he broke out into an all-out run across the grounds. This was it. He was being called. He was in the absolute worst mental state he could possibly be in. His occclumency shields were nonexistent when he was this angry. She always managed to rile him up. It was as though she was doing it on purpose. Did she want to find Potter? Or was it simply more entertaining to get under his skin?

Seriously, some of the things that came out of that girl's mouth made him question if the Dark Lord had it right all along. Would they be better off just killing the morons? The girl was too stupid to live! But then… She wasn't. She had a brilliant mind; it was just was atrophied from the pathetically slow pace of education in the castle. Classes that took a week to learn one charm, free periods, Quidditch matches, Hogsmeade visits... Sometimes he felt like they were running a summer camp rather than a school.  
Then there was the ridiculous level of praise she received for simply regurgitating the textbooks. The school was so intent upon maintaining a level of mediocrity that they praised children for the most basic level of academic rigor. She wasn't stupid. He had to keep reminding himself of that. She had put two and two together before and she had likely saved Harry Potter's life almost as often as he had.

She was just so frustratingly brainwashed by the only version of events she had been shown. How could he really expect anything else, though? She had been raised in the muggle world and had come to a light school and only been shown the Light's perspective. Why wouldn't she believe it hook, line and sinker, as the Muggles would say?

He didn't know why he was risking so much fighting with her. Every time they argued he seemed to allow more of his true opinions out. He was a highly trusted spy by both sides and yet when this 14-year-old girl asked him some brain-dead question he completely lost his cool. It was maddening.

As soon as he reached the gates of the school he thrust up the sleeve of his robes and touch the tip of his wand to his burning skin. It was a cruel trick of the mark that the longer one ignored it the hotter it burned. Luckily, as a Potions Master, he always had an ample supply of burn salve on him for just such an occasion. The amount of sleep that he missed brewing potions to combat his paranoia was impressive. The vile he could see clearly in his mind and so desperately wished to pour out onto his arm was one of at least 20 that he kept on his person at all times in a leather belt that hung neatly around his hips housing everything from dreamless sleep to a specially concocted pain reliever strong enough to relieve even the effects of the cruciatus curse.

No sooner had he touched the tip of his wand to his dark mark then he found himself in the entry chamber of the Malfoy château in France. He had been there an innumerable number of times before. Lucius was possibly the closest thing he had to a true friend. He was nevertheless surprised at the location. Why were they not in the headquarters in Albania or even Little Hangleton? France seemed and oddly… Light location.

After only a few seconds perusal of the space, his eyes landed on a dark-haired teen sitting in a throne like, high-backed, upholstered chair on a raised dais. Standing next to him was Lucius Malfoy. Lucius looked like a showboating peacock with his long platinum blond hair and finest robes. His nose was high in the air and he looked down it at Severus from his stance on the dais. The ponce. In private he was a rather nice guy, but whenever Lucius felt that there was someone in the room he needed to impress, someone he wasn't entirely familiar with or someone he was intimidated by, he turned the pureblood-dark-wizard-I'm-better-than-you-and-I-know-it thing up to eleven.

Severus was saved from having to say anything to Lucius and the teen who he was beginning to assume might just be the Dark Lord in a new body, when a figure tumbled gracelessly out of the fireplace. The man dusted off his robes with his hands like a muggle before looking up at the three of them. Sirius Black. Magic save us all. Sirius Black. Well, at least this would be interesting.

~.~.~  
Sirius had been summoned. He had been on his way from the kitchens up to Harry's with breakfast when he had gotten a fire call. The face of Lucius Malfoy informed him that his presence was needed at once. He had been waiting for this, and now the time had come. Telling Turvey that he was going out and to bring Harry breakfast when he woke up, he threw a handful of green powder into the flames and flooed to Malfoy Manor.

Stepping out of the fireplace, Sirius dusted himself off. He was in the summoning chamber. Sitting in a high-backed chair, to one end of the hall, on a small platform was a strikingly handsome teenage boy. To his side sat the tall and elegant blonde haired form of Lucius Malfoy. Standing closer to Sirius himself, was a rather peeved looking Severus Snape. The two upon recognizing each other tilted their heads back in acknowledgment each giving off barely audible greetings. Sirius have never liked Snape, and Snape had always despised Sirius. Why would they like each other? Sirius was Severus's childhood bully and Severus was always in Sirius's way. Every attempt Sirius made to get close to Lily, there was Snape. Not having seen Severus in over a decade, Sirius remarked that the man had aged fairly well. They were both roughly 35 by now and although Snape still had his characteristic greasy black hair, likely from years and years of potions fumes, he had grown into his nose. Against all his better judgment he couldn't help but think that made him look strikingly handsome in a roguish rugged sort of way. He would never be the true beauty that Sirius thought himself, but he had come worlds passed his teenage awkwardness.

When he saw recognition in the eyes of his peer he tilted his head backward in acknowledgment and said, "Black," in a voice just over a whisper. Severus had never liked Sirius Black. The man had made his school days hellish. The climax of their mutual animosity had come about when the dog had tried to get his wolf to kill him by luring Severus into the Shrieking shack. The idea that the bastard had actually managed to impregnate Lilly Evans, his only friend in childhood... That just made his blood boil. If he was honest with himself, he knew that he had been in love with the beautiful red-haired girl. Her death had sent him in such an emotional tail-spin that he had sought out the Light Lord Dumbledore to clear him of his sins, as though choosing his mother's blood over his abusive father's had been a sin.

Severus remarked that the man didn't look nearly as bad as the photograph of him in the papers had made him seem. He wondered where the man had gone to recuperate. Gone was the yellowed, hollowed skin. Instead of looking like an escaped madman he looked far more like the healthy, charming, bubbly student that Severus remembered from his Hogwarts days.

Turning his attention towards the teenager on the throne, Sirius strode forward and knelt down to one knee. Snape followed suit. Snape figured if the dog was going to show reverence then he might as well.

Well, that confirmed it. The Dark Lord had gone out and gotten himself a brand new teenage body. This would either go a long way to confirming his self-constructed myths about his immortality or cause significant problems for him when his followers questioned having a teenager as the chosen leader of the Dark in a time of war.

"My Lord" Severus said with his head bowed. At the same exact moment, he heard the same words escape Sirius's lips.

"My loyal operatives, thank you for joining me so expediently. It has been a long time since your last report." The teenage boy said with a smirk spreading across his face. "What news do you have for me?"

Severus looked instinctively at Black. If he could only make eye contact he could see inside the dog's mind. Had he been called before? What did the Dark Lord know? Where was Harry Potter? Sirius never looked directly at Severus. His eyes instead darted around Severus's face searching for answers in his expression. Good luck. Severus was not new at this. He had escaped death more times than the Dark Lord and Harry Potter combined, and he had done so by keeping an impassive face.

Sirius spoke first. "My lord, I have spent over a decade in Azkaban, along with many of your followers. I could not see them all, but Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange where there across the hall from my cell. Your servants are suffering. The Dark is losing powerful warriors to insanity."

"Yes, plans must be made to release my followers from the grasp of the Light. However, your exploits since your escape are what truly interest me. Where are you hiding Harry Potter?" The boy playing Lord asked.

"My Lord, you must understand, this relates to the matter we discussed several times before." He looked at Severus. What matter? What was the dog hinting at that he was so unwilling to say in front of Severus? Was it just Harry's true parentage or was there something more to it?

"Feel safe to speak openly, you are among friends." Said the boy Lord with a devilish smile.

"Of course, my Lord. Harry is the boy that the prophecy foretold. He is not James's, but rather my son." Severus's head whipped around with wide eyes at that. So the Dark Lord had not already known? There was yet another prophecy? One that the Dark Lord would not have known to connect to the Potter boy? Quickly realizing his mistaken lapse in composure, he calmed himself and looked hard at the floor. He heard Black continue. "I have retrieved him from the Light and Dumbledore's grasp. He... Is coming around to our side. He will be a great warrior for the Dark"

The Dark Lord turned and faced the last Death Eater, "Ah, and here we have our Hogwarts spy," he said with a cold smile, "Though it makes me wonder for whom you have been spying. Sirius here has been serving time for his service, his loyalty is unquestionable. I must confess I was quite surprised when I learned that Dumbledore vouched for you in your trial. He said you had been spying for him all along. You have been working as his Potions Master all this time. Has he already convinced you to spy for him again, is this why you have returned to me, Severus?"

"My Lord, I have always remained loyal to you. I remained with Dumbledore to gather information about him for when you returned. I was sure that-" Snape started saying.

The expression on the Dark Lord's face grew red with anger and Severus noticed as he raised his wand swiftly, but lowered it again as though reminding himself to keep calm, "And what do you have to report on the old man?"

Severus knew he was on thin ice here. Then, when wasn't he with the Dark Lord? It was a very careful line he had to walk between his two masters. "Dumbledore is frantic, he spends his nights searching for Potter, he believes he is alive. The ministry has all but closed the case file on his disappearance and considers him dead. The headmaster has lost his greatest weapon against the Dark." Through gritted teeth he bit out, "Black has done you a great service there."

The Dark Lord looked as though he was less than satisfied, "That is what you have gathered in the last month. Why should I care about a boy that just happened to be there when my spell backfired? I need to know what you have learned in the last 12 years. Who are his most trusted supporters? What are his plans? How will he suppress us next?"

Severus hesitated, why should he care? Surely the Dark Lord remembered the prophecy? Why was he asking about who Dumbledore's followers were? He knew all about the Order of the Phoenix. They discussed it on numerous occasions. He knew the members, he knew their major plans. "My Lord, I do not believe he has recalled the Order of the Phoenix yet, but it is my belief that he will and soon. He is distraught, and I believe that his primary goal will be retrieving Potter. He sees Potter as his only means to your ultimate defeat."

"As if a mere child could defeat me." He scoffed. Then Lucius leaned over and whispered something to him.

Well, that settled it. Whoever this was in front of him Dark Lord or not, he had major gaps in his knowledge base. He knew too much to not be his Lord, but too little at the same time. Perhaps it was best to keep the prophecy to himself for now until he understood more of what was going on. Well, maybe not entirely to himself. He cast a sideways glance a Black who was kneeling next to him. If Black was sheltering Potter then he should be made aware of the danger his supposed son was in. Severus couldn't keep the nagging thought at the back of his mind from bubbling up to the surface. If marrying James had been a betrayal, bearing Black's son was the ultimate betrayal. How could Lily have chosen Black over himself?

The boy was speaking again, "Bring me more information on the Order of the Phoenix. I need to know exactly who is called this time. If there are any new members, I should know who they are, where they live, and who they love. As for you Black, make sure you bring your son to the ball. I shall want to speak with him myself."

Severus saw Sirius blanch at that. Rising to their feet and bowing at the waist the two spies made to leave. Sirius brushed against Severus to get close enough to whisper. "Wizarding Prague, tea shop, one hour." He straightened and left, flooing back to his manor and his son. Severus waited for the flames to clear before flooing to the Hog's Head for a much-needed fire whiskey.

The dodgy bar was deserted except for a few drunks as it often was in the middle of the week. Severus didn't know fully why he chose to come all the way back to Hogsmeade just for a drink. Drink was easy enough to find anywhere. Still there was something about coming back to the scene of the crime, the place where he had betrayed Lily, that felt right. If he was going to feel sorry for himself, this was the place to do it. He ordered a whiskey from the surly barman and sat down on a stool. He didn't drink the amber liquid at first but rather stared at it as though it were the surface of a pensive. In it he could see all the evil he had done in the name of the Dark and every betrayal of his people the had committed in the name of the Light.

At this moment there wasn't a man on earth that hated himself as much as Severus Snape. Having fallen far enough into his depression he allowed his long, thin fingers to curl around the cool glass and raise it swiftly to his lips. The liquid burned down his throat and pooled in his empty stomach making him feel warm with its magic. He raised his hand to catch the man's attention and silently indicate his desire for another glass.

So, Black still had the-boy-who-lived and he was claiming him as his son. Brilliant. Severus didn't know whether he was supposed to be satisfied that the boy was still alive and apparently well, or angry that Lily Evans had slept with two Marauder's instead of himself. Things might have been very different for him if his best friend had been willing to become more. He couldn't blame her for choosing to make other friends in her own house, for getting close to them, for pulling away when teenage social pressure dictated that a friendship with Severus, a known dark wizard, was social suicide. It was just that at sixteen he hadn't felt it was a rational, self-protective decision, he had felt it was a betrayal.

He had been so lonely. Lucius was a few years older than himself and didn't often have time for his little pet project of converting the half blood back to the Dark. They had not truly become friends until after Severus had graduated. By then a few years of age difference seemed nothing outside of the castle walls. Lucius had taught him about their history, culture, their faith. No one had ever been so interested in improving him, in developing him into a complete person. Dumbledore had, of course, cajoled him and preached about the morality of embracing the path of the Light, but he expected Severus to do the work himself, to become a better person so that he might fit in. Lucius on the other hand, seemed genuinely interested in the process. Severus even went to live with him in the few years twixt school and Lucius's marriage to Narcissa. Lucius was living in a small family home in Berlin and the two shared it while they each pursues higher education.

The beautiful blonde had taken him on field trips of the sort. They would visit great centers of dark wizarding history and Lucius would explain their past. Severus felt both an outsider and more connected to something then he ever had. Growing up as a half blood, growing up as a child in the middle of a violent and loveless marriage, he had never felt as though he belonged in the muggle world or the wizard. He had never felt as though he belonged with either the Light or the Dark.

In retrospect he had attached himself to Lucius so that he might feel that sense of belonging that he never had at home or in school. That sense of belonging only intensified when he joined the ranks of the death eaters. It was like becoming a member in a secret club. He felt accepted and valued for his knowledge and skill. He only wished he had known sooner how far gone their leader's mind had been by that point.

He downed his third glass. And that brought his musings back to this bar, back to the place where he had heard the prophecy that lead to Lilly's death. This horrible, horrible bar where he had made the worst decision of his entire life. A decision he had been paying for ever since. There. That had to have been an hour. Severus stood tossing a few coins onto the bar and made his way to the fireplace.

Ten minutes later Severus sat in a nearly vacant tea shop in Wizarding Prague. He wasn't terribly surprised that yet another establishment was vacant in the middle of the day on a weekday. He looked around the dark interior. Unlike Madame Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade, this tea shop lacked the lace, frills, and general dollhouse like quality. Instead, this was a dimly lit, incense filled, Eastern European teahouse with a Middle Eastern flair. This was in fact the tea shop of a renowned Czech Seer, who in her retirement decided to settle down and just read tea leaves for tourists. She had had a busy life doing political readings for Eastern European governments, and quite felt that she had had enough.

Severus was joined by Sirius Black in a pathetically minor disguise seconds after taking a seat at a table. The two spies sat at a small low to the ground table on oversized pillows. After several minutes of contemplative staring Sirius sighed exasperated,"I think we should just cut to the chase and admit that we each know something the other wants to know."

Severus raised an eyebrow, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" He forced down a smirk. He had won the war of silence. He was at an advantage as Black had spoken first. Even if he was the only one aware of the advantage, it was something.  
"Exactly, you go first!" Sirius said with an almost triumphant grin. Damn him.

Severus rolled his eyes to indicate that he didn't care, "Did James and Lily ever tell you about why they had to go into hiding?"

"Of course, I was their best friend. Obviously, James told me why he had to take Lily and Harry into hiding. Voldemort was after them because they had successfully attacked him too many times." Sirius said a little too cocky about his inclusion in their confidence.

"Not exactly. That was part of it. The real reason was Harry." He paused, thinking about how best to construct the story for Sirius. Better start with the basics, we are talking about the dog after all. "The prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lift them from the shelves without suffering madness. The Ministry holds a prophecy that I witnessed.

The Dark Lord tried to kill the Potters when Harry was a child, because of a prophecy made shortly before his birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He kept the knowledge of the prophecy extremely secretive, only telling operatives what they needed to know to carry out their missions. He set out to kill Harry when he was still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill Harry backfired. He should have known about the prophecy this time, but I noticed the appearance of several gaps in his memory. I don't think we are working with a completely whole Dark Lord. This could be not only excessively dangerous for the two of us, but for Harry. Our only respite is that he did not hear the whole prophecy, as at the time I had not. Thus, he does not know how to destroy Harry."

"I know bits and pieces of the prophecy of which you speak. James wouldn't tell me everything. Can you tell me more? Can you tell me how to protect my son? When did you hear the prophecy?" Sirius said. To his credit the man looked genuinely scared. At least he had that going for him. Severus still didn't like the dog.

"On a cold, wet night shortly before Harry was born, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn. I had gone there to get drunk, after a particularly difficult raid. Dumbledore was there as well, to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher. The applicant, was Sybill, surely you remember her from our days in school? Apparently, She was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer. After she and Dumbledore had chatted about something or other for the better part of an hour, they seemed to be wrapping up when I heard her say:

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES. . . . BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . .

I later learned from Dumbledore that I had left too early. I had gone off to tell the Dark Lord. What I missed was:

AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES. . . . THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . . ."

Sirius looked dumbfounded. "Half-baked pseudo-Seers… How little clairvoyance can the woman have and still consider herself a prophet? That could mean almost anything."

Severus was mildly impressed. He had expected an aghast reaction from a father looking to protect his newly acquired son, and keep them away from the leader of a rather dangerous war. What he got was a mildly miffed and utterly unaffected dark patrician. "I would have expected a bit more trepidation from a father." Severus rolled his eyes, "You do understand the prophecy is practically a death sentence?"

Sirius looked smug as he leaned back into a pile of pillows with his hands interlacing fingers behind his head, "You don't know the half of it. My mother was a blood seer. Unlike our dear Sybil, she had true clairvoyance. None of this watered-down spoken prophecy nonsense. Honestly, how can anyone know if that shit is real or not? No, mum spent half her life out of time. Regulus and I were constantly walking in on her passed out on the floor. Honestly most kids when they walk in on their parents passed out their just drunks. Our mother was seeing the future of likely OUR lives. It was horribly embarrassing.

Couldn't get away with anything. She always knew before I did anything even halfway important. It wasn't all about what was going to happen to me. She used to pull me into her study and instruct me on my role as a spy, on my son's role in the war to come."  
Severus couldn't keep his mind from playing back Sirius's numerous exploits in his school days, his exploits that he mysteriously always seem to get away with. There was just never any proof that it had been him. "Of course you would use your mother's gift to get away with childish pranks." Severus muttered, "So, she told you about Trelawney's prophecy then?"

"Nope." Sirius rearranged himself on the pillows attempting to get more comfortable. "I only learned about the prophecy from James. She told me, in excruciating detail, about Harry's life with a young Dark Lord. One that bears a striking resemblance to the rather charming fellow we just met."

"So, I take it from your rather evident comfort, that Harry prevails and defeats our Lord?" Severus sneered.

"Nope, misinterpretation of Trelawney's prophecy. It's a bit more complicated than all that. Mum only told me just enough about that kind of stuff that I feel confident Harry will be fine. I know for a fact he has many many more years to go." Sirius said, sitting up from the pillows and arching his back forward and in an attempt to crack it.

"This isn't working out to be a very good trade." Snape pointed out. "I told you my prophecy. You have given me very little to work with on the other hand."

"Yep, that's why I made you go first." Sirius smiled, stood up and started making his way towards the tea shop's fireplace. "See you around, Snevergus."

He couldn't believe he was being so light hearted about this. This was his son. This was Lily's son. And a powerful war lord was prophesized to kill him. Severus stood and reached his long arm out towards the other man. He caught Sirius by his wrist as the other man made to throw the floo powder into the flames. "We have to tell the boy."

"You're joking, you would be mad to try and put that kind of pressure on a kid, and we don't even know what it means." Sirius exclaimed, looking at Snape as if seriously questioning his decision making ability.

If possible, Severus's expression darkened. Not only did he want to tell Harry the secret that had been kept from him, but he wanted to see the boy. He wanted to make sure that he was alright, that Black was taking care of him. He didn't want to just take Black's word for it. "But I know what He thought it meant and he has already proven he is willing to kill Harry to protect himself."

"Fine, I'll tell him." Sirius pivoted on his heel and took half a step towards the hearth before Snape's potion stained hand was back on his wrist.

That wasn't good enough. He had to see the boy. He had been searching for him for weeks, hadn't he? He couldn't get this close only to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. "WE will tell him...he's Lilly's son, my best friend's son." Sirius hadn't thought it was possible, but Severus appeared to be pleading.

"Fine. Tag along if you have to." He said, not liking the idea of the dungeon bat in his home.

Together they flued to Black Manor, Sirius frustratedly clamping a hand down on Snape so the wards would allow him through.

~.~.~.~.~  
The three wizards sat uncomfortably in the parlor, a stuffy room Sirius's father used to use to entertain guests in, guests being a loose term for the husbands of his wife's friends looking to escape to drink. The room's mahogany trim work and leather club chairs gave it a boys club feel that Sirius felt set the right tone for this particular conversation.

Sirius broke the silence first "Harry, I believe you know Snape."

"Professor Snape" corrected Severus on instinct.

Harry gave a derisive snort, "As I highly doubt my kidnapper will be allowing me to attend your school in the Fall, I think we can drop the honorific, Snape." He spat the last word. He had no incentive to play nice. He never liked Snape and here he sat proving everything Harry had ever thought about him. He was a death eater. Harry might not have the same righteous loathing towards the death eaters as he once had, but for Snape he was willing to fake it.  
Sirius sat nervously his eyes jumping from the dungeon bat to his newly acquired son. He had not been expecting this. Sure, he hated Severus, but he had no idea quite how much Harry did. If the two of them had gotten on so poorly at Hogwarts, why had Snape been so insistent on coming? "Right well, Harry, I brought Snape he so he could tell you something. You see, this morning we were both summoned by the Dark Lord. He's back, and surprisingly young and youthful looking, didn't you think so Severus? I mean really for a 65-year-old he is doing quite well. Doesn't look much older than 17." He rambled, trying to cut the tension between the two men on either side of him. "Anyhoo, we were summoned because we had both been spies in the last war. The Dark Lord seemed to have some gaps in his knowledge. Specifically he seem to be unaware of a prophecy directly relating to you that old Snapey here overheard."

Severus cringed at the newly adopted nickname, "Thank you for that bumbling introduction." He sneered. "Potter, now that the Dark Lord is back, there are things you need to know. A few months before you were born, I overheard a prophecy that I came to learn was about you."

Harry looked skeptical, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the leather chair, "Right, and what would that be?"

Severus pushed down the raising waves of irritation. Why had he been protecting this brat again? He turned to Sirius. "Do you have a pensive in this opulent hell hole?"

"Play nice Sneverus, not all of us grew up self-righteously poor. I'll go grab it from the study down the hall. You two try not to kill each other." With that he walked out the door leaving the two alone.

Severus threw up a quick silencing spell, he didn't have much time and he didn't want to be overheard, "Potter, are you being treated alright? Do you have any injuries? Are you being held against your will?" He said rattling off questions in rapid succession.  
Harry was startled by the sudden change in his professor. "I-I'm fine." He was a bit taken aback by his own response. Was he? He had been kidnapped! But... Sirius was easy to like, easy to get along with and treated him worlds better than the Dursleys. "I guess I'm not here against my will anymore..."

Severus nodded decidedly, he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. He quickly lowered the silencing spell and shifted in his chair to make a background noise. Sirius walked back into the room carrying a stone basin. "Took you long enough, how large is this eyesore?" He said as Sirius handed him the pensive. He touched the tip of his wand to his temple and pulled out a silvery strand. He placed it into the pensive. Then, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES. . . . BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . . AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES. . . . THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . . ."  
The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished.

The silence within the parlor was absolute. Neither Severus nor Sirius nor Harry made a sound.

"Sirius?" Harry said very quietly, for Sirius, still staring at the Pensive, seemed completely lost in thought. "It . . . did that mean . . . What did that mean?"

"It meant," said Severus, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly fourteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."  
Harry felt as though something was closing in upon him. His breathing seemed difficult again.

"It means — me?"

Severus surveyed him for a moment, looking down his long hooked nose. "The odd thing is, Potter," he said softly, "that it may not have meant you at all. Sybil’s prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in Dumbledore's ranks, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then . . . but then, why do you think it means me and not Neville?" Asked Harry looking for an out.

"The official record is kept in the ministry and it was relabeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Severus. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybil was referring."

"Then — it might not be me?" said Harry.

Severus slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "There is no doubt that it is you."

"But you said — Neville was born at the end of July too — and his mum and dad —"

"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort. . . . Voldemort himself would 'mark him as his equal.' And so he did, Potter. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"But he might have chosen wrong!" said Harry. "He might have marked the wrong person!"

"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," said Severus. "He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him like you did in your first year. Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete."

"So he only heard . . . ?"

"I heard only the first part, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. I obtained this memory from Dumbledore. He didn't know that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you — again marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait or to learn more. He did not know that you would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not' —"

"The end of the prophecy . . . it was something about . . . 'neither can live. . . .' " Harry all but whispered.

" '. . . while the other survives,' " said Severus.

"So," said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, "so does that mean that . . . that one of us has got to kill the other one . . . in the end?"

"Yes," said Severus.

"No," said Sirius. He had heard enough of this. Who could possibly put this much stock in half baked trance prophecy? Honestly trance seers really were not worth listening to. "Harry, remember what I told you about my mother and her gift?" Harry nodded, his throat too tight to answer. "Well she saw visions of you well into your forties before she died. She never saw your death as far as I know. You should know this prophecy is out there, but don't let it rule your life. Trance prophets give short verbal messages that can be interpreted many many different ways." Sirius said as reassuringly as he could muster.

Harry looked at Black like he was mad. Which he most likely was after years and years in prison being tortured by dementors. "Not let it rule my life? And how am I supposed to do that? You just told me that I'm going to have to kill Voldemort! Or that he's going to kill me! How was that not supposed to be the defining drive in my life? You expect me to turn sides, right? You expect me just to be a loyal follower of the Dark side and wait for Voldemort to decide to kill me?!" Harry was speaking very loudly and very fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. The candles in the room were flickering and the ground beneath them was beginning to shake.

"Calm down Harry you're letting your magic get out of control." Sirius said as calmly as he could.

"I don't care! There's some crazy guy after me! He already tried to kill me twice and now you're telling me that he's just going to keep trying."

"It doesn't have to be that way. Trance prophecies gain the majority of their power from the subjects belief in them. The prophecies take form and become binding because the actors in the prophecy act on the prophecy. You don't have to. We don't have to tell the Dark Lord about the prophecy this time. He doesn't seem to know about it. We don't know why, but we have no intention of killing him and every intention of protecting you in anyway we can. The best way to protect you is for you to become loyal to the Dark. Don't you see? The Light will just try to use you as a weapon because they believe that you were the only one who can kill the Dark Lord."

"And what do YOU want?! YOU want to use me as a weapon too, to fight the Light! To kill my friends!" The room was shaking violently now.

"POTTER CALM DOWN NOW!" Severus roared.

~.~.~.~

Ron Wesley was in a violently orange colored room not studying, but rather hiding from his brothers. The twins were attempting to test new smoke bombs on him. Unlike your run-of-the-mill smoke bombs, these released potions that tended to transfigure parts of his body into nasty monster like parts. Luckily they wore off after about an hour.

Like Hermione, Ron had been rather worried about his best friend. After having lost his sister in their second year, it seemed a bit unfair to lose his best friend in their third. His family had never quite been the same sense Ginny had died. Well, they say died. How could being trapped in the diary be considered living? The one halfway decent thing was that at least they could speak to her. They all took turns writing to her for about a month at a time. They had figured out that any longer than that and they would start to feel a drain on their magic. Ginny wasn't trying to hurt them, but that was how the diary seem to work. They had a team of researchers at St. Mungo's working on a solution to get her out without killing someone else or trapping them.  
Hermione had taken to copying her third year notes into the diary. She insisted that when Ginny got out she would not want to have fallen behind. Ginny appreciated the distraction. Her time in the diary was torturous. She could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, but the paper closing in on her. She greedily conversed with anyone who dared speak with her. She said their words made her feel stronger, more alive.

At first everyone had blamed Harry for Ginny's death, but Ginny had stood up for Harry. She explained her foolish obsession with Tom and how he used his charisma to separate her from her friends and eventually it was too late, he had possessed her. Harry a wandless third year was no match for the older boy.

So here he was sitting on his bed writing to Ginny while he avoided his older brothers. They were brainstorming ideas to get Harry back. Ginny's theory was that he was with Tom, likely being tortured, and certainly being held captive. Ron thought he was more likely still with Black. No one had heard a peep out of Voldemort in the past year so he might not have had enough strength to make it very far as a corporeal memory. Everyone except the headmaster seemed to think he would have faded back into nothingness after a while without a real body.

They argued what was more likely until Ron started feeling faint and had to put her down.

~.~.~.~.~

Harry seized the table in front of him on which an odd and very old looking silver instrument stood and flipped it over violently. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions. The instrument lay broken and useless underneath.  
"Calm down," said Severus slowly and softly. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing Sirius' study. His expression was calm, almost detached.  
"The prophecy is not a death sentence." Sirius reiterated.

"HOW? — HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT? !" Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second he wanted to rush at Black and break him in two.

"Because I don't believe in it," said Sirius, still more calmly. "You have now lost your mother, James...and I have spent a third of my life incarcerated because of that prophecy, but the only thing that gave it power was Voldemort and Dumbledore's belief in it. Now only Dumbledore will act on it, because Voldemort seems not to know it this time. I feel great hope."

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" Harry roared. "YOU — STANDING THERE — YOU —"

But words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help. He wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the two dark wizards.

He ran to the door, seized the doorknob again, and wrenched at it.

But the door would not open.

Harry turned back to Sirius.

"Let me out," he said. He was shaking from head to foot.

"No," said Sirius simply. "Kidnapped remember?"

For a few seconds they stared at each other.

"Let me out," Harry said again.

"No," Severus repeated. Standing next to Sirius in a less than subtle sign of support.

"If you don't — if you keep me in here — if you don't let me —" Harry stammered.

"By all means continue destroying my father's junk," said Sirius serenely. "I daresay he had too many trinkets."

He walked around an arm chair and stood behind it, watching Harry.

"Let me out," Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Sirius's.

"Not until I have had my say," said Sirius.

"Do you — do you think I want to — do you think I give a — I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Harry roared. "I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!"

"You will," said Sirius sternly. "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it."

"What are you talking — ?"

"I am keeping a great deal more from you," said Sirius clearly. "You sent a message to me about your scar hurting again. I know why it hurts."

"Sit down Potter" Severus instructed.

"Harry . . . well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you, and sooner — much sooner — than you should have, you found yourself face-to-face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight."

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired." Sirius reiterated to the frantic teen. "And so, since his return to his body..." Sirius trailed off looking at Harry's forehead fixedly. 

"Your scar . . . has been hurting"

Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.

"Yeah," he said, "and I've been wondering about that. It's not burning all the time now like when Voldemort was in Hogwarts in my first year though. "

"But it hurts at night...you have dreams?" Sirius asked hesitantly.

"...yeah, but everyone has bad dreams once in a while." Harry said confused.

"And what do you dream about when your scar hurts?"

"Tom Riddle from the diary...Voldemort." Harry said, stating the obvious. Who in his position wouldn't have nightmares about Voldemort?

Severus sighed, "It appears there is a connection between the Dark Lord's mind and your own. Whether he is, as yet, aware of this connection is for the moment unclear. Pray he remains ignorant."

"Precisely. Harry, you and the Dark Lord share a connection through your scar. You are passing on emotions and dreams to one another. Has he tried to contact you in any way? Sent you visions or spoken to you?" Sirius asked. Did Harry seriously think it was normal to be in physical pain from a nightmare? What had this kid gone through to be so conditioned to accept pain?

"What!? NO! He can do that!?"

"Possibly not yet, this version of the Dark Lord might not know about the connection. He is vastly intelligent and you can bet that he will someday soon feel your mind and reach out to it." Sirius explained.  
"So...if he knows about it then, he'll be able to read my mind?!"

Severus answered, "Read it, control it, unhinge it. In the past it was often the Dark Lord's pleasure to invade the minds of his victims, creating visions designed to torture them into madness. Only after extracting the last exquisite ounce of agony, only when he had them literally begging for death would he finally... kill them. Used properly, the power of Occlumency will help shield you from access or influence."

Sirius jumped in, "You need to be prepared. You need to learn how to close your mind to him, protect your thoughts and memories." Sirius looked over his shoulder to his silent fellow spy. "For Lily?"

"Damn you and Albas for always using her against me when it comes to the boy." Severus nodded curtly.

Sirius smiled in thanks. "Severus can help you there. He is the third greatest occlumens in Europe."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. "Occlu-what?"

"Occlumency is the act of magically closing one's mind against Legilimency, the word "occlumency" comes from the Latin occludere, meaning "to shut up" and "mens", for "mind". It is ancient, and has existed since the time of Mordred. It can prevent a Legilimens from accessing one's thoughts and feelings, or influencing them. A person who practises this art is known as an Occlumens. Used properly, the power of Occlumency will help shield you from access or influence." Severus explained.

"Can't Sirius just teach me?" Harry said pleadingly.

"Well yeah, I mean… I'm okay at occlumency. Honestly, I'm nowhere near as good as Severus. I can get past a basic interrogation and hold my own against Dumbledore if I avoid his tea, but I am nowhere near strong enough... And I'm not a teacher. Severus is a teacher. He will know how to help you with this better than I. Occlumency has allowed him to be a double agent for decades. His shields are strong enough to go up against not only Dumbledore but the Dark Lord as well! As far as I know he is the only one who can protect his mind against the Dark Lord entirely! I may hate the guy but he's the best teacher for you." Sirius rambled.

"But he HATES me!" Harry interrupted, wondering if Black had gone completely mad. On second thought, Harry had never assumed that he hadn't. A third of your life in prison would do that. That must be it. He's just completely mental.

"I realize you and Professor Snape don't get along very well, but that's often the case with teachers and students. You'll get past that eventually. It's an excellent match. You are both relatively equal in power and ability - or will be once you've finished your schooling Harry. And until you do, Severus is certainly capable of protecting your mind from any threat."

"Perhaps it would be best if you teach Potter the theory and the basics before you send him to me, Black." Severus suggested.

Harry nodded decidedly. That was a good idea. Leave it to Snape to have a good idea.

Sirius hung his head dejectedly. He was not good at teaching. He tried, at school... mostly to get dates. He had no idea how to teach someone how to do anything. The one time he had tried teaching Peter, who was working on his animagus transformation, he almost got Peter's head permanently stuck the size of a rat. Thinking back on it, that might've solved a lot of problems for him later on. "Fine, Harry and I will work on the basics. Then you will step in with his lessons? He will need to be at least partially trained before he meets the Dark Lord in person."

Severus and Harry nodded in unison.

~.~.~.~.~

Hermione's eyes widened as she read a paragraph of Ancient Blood Wards and Familial Magic. She had found it. She read it over again. And again. Yep. This was it. Harry was behind Blood Wards.

Blood wards were a dark magic unlike anything Hermione had ever read about. they were layers upon layers of wards constructed out of familial ties. The Lord of the house through every generation put on his own distinctive wards, protecting his family and his descendants. Blood of the family was required to pass through the wards whether by owl, floo, or apparition. That would make him impossible to get to without a blood relative that was keyed into the wards.

It would also mean that Harry was Sirius Black's son, just like he said. What did THAT mean?! Had Harry accepted his place as the son of a death eater? He had been gone for two months now. He could have developed Stockholm syndrome by this point.  
He was somewhere in a family home with the lord of his house, Sirius Black. Dumbledore had already been to tons of Black properties only to find Sirius Black's distant relatives living quiet lives. He must have missed this house in his search.  
She had been working with Dumbledore during the summer to try to devise a plan to rescue Harry. While she worked on trying to get Harry a message, Dumbledore focused his efforts on searching for the missing hero. In addition to searching all known Black property holdings in England, Dumbledore had searched suspected death eater hideouts from the first war. He had so far had no luck. The elderly wizard was growing more and more frustrated and weary.

~.~.~.~.~

Over the next few days Sirius tried desperately to teach Harry about Occlumency. They began with basic meditation techniques, they continued with clearing your mind before sleep, they worked on complete emotional separation, they focused on emotional compartmentalization. Harry proved to be a rather terrible student. Not because he wasn't trying, and not because he wasn't understanding the concepts, but because he was simply far too emotionally expressive. He 'wore his heart on his sleeve', he lacked the most basic training that any dark child would have received in protecting their mind and their heart from the prying of others. Dark children were taught from a young age that their emotional state was theirs and very private. It was not something you should cavalierly express to others. Within a family home it was expected to be affectionate and loving, but in social situations one should be aloof and reserved. Harry had had no such social training and the concept of keeping his thoughts and emotions to himself seemed alien.

"Okay Harry, this time I'm going to push into your mind very gently and I want you to concentrate on clearing it completely while I am inside. I want to see how you are working on creating a empty space to keep your intruder in." Sirius said very gently as if speaking to a child who could not quite figure out how to solve the most basic of math problems. "Legitimenz!"

Sirius' mind pushed up against Harry's and slowly penetrated into it. It was a chaotic space. Memories and thoughts were jumbled and all at the forefront.

'Great, I've been kidnapped and now I'm being tortured', 'Sirius is being really nice about this. I know I am no good.', 'I miss my friends, Hermione would be great at helping me with this', Harry's thoughts swam by him in a thick cloud of images and softly muttering voices.

"You're thinking too much, clear it out. Think of one singular image. A red ball. Just concentrate on the red ball. Form it in your mind." Sirius urged.

'I'm no good at this, why should I even try. A ball...' Slowly, some of the images started to fade away. The space was by no means void, but it was an improvement. A gray ball was forming as if suspended in the air. A moment or two later color was added and the ball became red. 'Think of a ball. Think of a ball. Think of a ball' "okay, better. Now stop repeating the words. Just concentrate on the image." Harry's thoughts got quieter and more muffled. The ball became clearer.  
"Bounce the ball."

'Bounce the ball bounce the ball bounce the ball'

"Quietly." The ball began to move up and down in the space. It wasn't quite bouncing, likely because Harry had not envisioned a surface for it to hit. That was fine. The voices had all but completely dropped away, and the only image in the space was the ball. This was a vast improvement from where Harry had started a week ago. "Very good. I'm going to push harder and try to draw up a memory. Don't let me. Make your mind focus entirely on the ball." Sirius thought of the first time he and Harry went flying together. He attempted to bring the memory to the surface in Harry's mind. It was far too easy. Quickly the memory came up, there he was handing Harry the Firebolt, and there was Harry flying, and there was Harry attempting to escape. "That's alright, I may have gotten it up too quickly for you, but you can still defend against me. Push the memory back down. Make me see the ball." The memory started to get more muted in color, harder to hear, and fuzzier around the edges. The ball in contrast became brighter, bigger, and in clearer focus. "You're doing it! Very good. I think that's enough for today." Sirius withdrew his consciousness back into his own mind. He looked at Harry. The boy was drenched in sweat. "You should lie down, but you did a good job today. I'm very proud of you."

He was proud. He was proud, but they weren't moving quickly enough. The Dark Lord would summon them to the ball in three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this chapter. I am still working out where the chapter breaks should be and how long chapters should be. Thoughts? I would love any advise or comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Hermione and Snape attend the World Cup, Tom presents himself to the Death Eaters for the first time in his new form, Harry and Tom meet again, Tom hatches a plan for Harry, and Harry finds something shiny.

Hermione spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to her sides, blurred fireplaces flashing past her until she started to feel sick and closed her eyes. Then, when at last she felt herself slowing down, she threw out her hands and came to a halt in time to prevent herself from falling face forward out of the Weasleys' kitchen fire.

They had been making no progress whatsoever on finding Harry and Dumbledore had suggested that they take a break from their research. Coincidentally Arthur Weasley had been offered tickets to the World Cup by the Ministry of Magic. As Hermione was Ron's only close friend at Hogwarts now he had invited her to cheer the boys up.

It had been Dumbledore's idea to send Severus Snape with them as a sort of security measure. She suspected that his true intentions have been to force the potions professor into taking a vacation. However, if the Dark Lord was going to announce himself to the world, the Cup would be an ideal place to do it. Not that anyone was admitting openly that he had returned. So Severus had been drug along to the Burrow so that they might all leave for the match together. Dumbledore had declined several invitations both from the Weasley's and from the ministry directly. He was looking more and more haggard each time he appeared at breakfast. He was spending a great deal of his time traveling outside the castle walls, searching known or suspected death eater haunts.

Hermione looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people she had never seen before, though she knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers. She smiled sheepishly at the two handsome older boys before her eyes landed on her surly looking professor. He was looming over the others like a black cloud.

George perked up when he saw her. "Hey Hermione, fancy a sweet?" No sooner had the words left his mouth then Ron smacked the offered candy out of his brother's hand.

"Don't eat anything he gives you Hermione, their all hexed. That one makes you faint." Ron informed her.

It was then that Charlie scowled at his brother. "Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning-"

"Fred and George's room," said Ron picked up the sentence. "Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that . . ."

"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things," said Charlie. "We thought they just liked the noise."

"Only, most of the stuff — well, all of it, really — was a bit dangerous," said Ron, "and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms. . . . She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as she expected."

"And then there was this big row," Charlie said, "because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop."

Hermione looked over the heads of flaming red hair to lock eyes with her potion's Professor who seemed to be mildly impressed. Obviously, a candy that made its victim faint would require a decent level of potions aptitude to make. She wondered how the twins were in their potions class.

Forty-five minutes later Severus and Hermione were sitting in the parlor of the Burrow. The family had spent the last three-quarters of an hour getting ready for dinner. Severus thought that the whole thing might have gone significantly faster if the Weasley matriarch would just send her children away rather than insisting that they help. The twins had already ruined two dishes Molly had made by flying them into one another.

"Manipulative, old witch," Snape mumbled into his tea at the retreating back of Molly Weasley.

"Why do you have to be mean to her? She is so nice to you! She just brought you your favorite tea and now she's cooking dinner for us." Hermione scolded.

"Exactly, she is trying to control me by giving of herself." Snape sneered.

"You're just being paranoid." Hermione scoffed.

"I'm not. It's an old bit of dark magic. As she gives her magic is embedded in the food or drink or oversized sweater and the magic subtly acts as a compelling charm. She is a master of the art." Severus said setting his tea down. He was speaking in a voice just above a whisper. He might be more powerful than the witch but he still didn't want to have her actively upset with him. Her temper could be lethal.

"Mrs. Weasly wouldn't use dark magic!" Hermione protested looking skeptically into her own tea.

"Why not? She is a dark witch after all." Severus said coldly.

"She is not. The Weasley's are as light as they come." Hermione argued.

"The Prewets, however, have been historically a dark family. Mrs. Weasly was once Molly Prewett after all." Severus said darkly.

"I don't believe you," Hermione said firmly.

"That's perfectly fine with me. I unlike you do not feed off of the approval of those around me. However, I will say one last thing to convince you: have you never wondered why Draco Malfoy calls the Weasley's blood traitors if they are as light as they come?" Snape asked.

"He says that because they are purebloods that support the protection of muggle-borns and muggles," Hermione said a little unsure of herself.

"He says it because in the last war Fabian and Gideon Prewet chose to betray their people and fight for the Light. They killed a lot of dark wizards before they were murdered for their desertion." The look of disgust on his face was as clear as the daylight spilling through the windows of the Weasley's cheery home.

"You always seem disgusted when you talk about people turning to the Light. You're irritated by all of us. You haven't made friends. Why do you fight for the Light?" Hermione asked.

"A very simple answer to a very inappropriate question. I don't." Severus said with a fire in his eyes. He knew he was baiting her, but it had been a wildly inappropriate question.

Hermione went pale. What had he just said?

"Before you go running off thinking I'm going to murder you and cast the dark mark over this house, I don't fight for the light. I fight for Harry Potter, Lilly Evens was my best friend in my terrible childhood. I promised to do all I could to protect her son. And I have and will continue to until there is no longer a threat to the boy's life." Severus explained. And then added to himself: or until one of us is dead.

"And then what? After Voldemort is dead you're just going to go back to being a dark wizard?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Ms. Granger, I was born a dark wizard. I am a dark wizard now. And I will die a dark wizard weather in the service of the Light or after the Dark Lord's defeat. Nothing can change that."

"But you are fighting for the right side now. You spy for the Light. You don't do dark things. You are a light wizard." Hermione protested.

"Being dark or being light has nothing to do with my actions. It only has to do with my blood and magic. Molly and I will be dark wizards until we die. There is nothing either of us can do about it. It is what we are. Dumbledore can no more change me into a light wizard then he can transfigure the entire planet into one of his precious lemon drops." Snape explained sipping his tea.

Hermione awoke the next morning very early to the sound of Molly Weasley shaking her youngest son awake. "Ron dear, time to wake up. You have a long walk ahead of you before you reach the portkey." She was on the other side of the hall but sound carried easily in The Burrow.  
Hermione's door had been left open all night. Ginny's room got stuffy with the door closed because it lacked a window. Hermione suspected that it might have at one time been a closet that had been magically expanded to accommodate the growing families youngest child. 

Hermione was amazed at how perfectly preserved the room was. It was a shrine to the beautiful red headed girl that had once lived here, and whose diary now sat only a few inches from her own head on the night stand.

Upon seeing Hermione, who was always a rather light sleeper, sturing at her words rather than her own son, the older which gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry dear. You could have a bit of a lie in. Professor Snape said he would apperate with you at midday. He will be back in a few hours." The professor had returned to school the night before preferring to sleep in his own bed and away from the hustle and bustle of the busy Weasley household.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said groggily as she closed her eyes and try to fall back to sleep. It was difficult to convince her body to drift off to sleep with the soft noises of the two redheads moving about the room as the youngest Weasley got dressed and ready to leave the house.

With the two had finally left the room Hermione decided that there was no hope of regaining sleep and pulled out a book that her professor had given her. When she tapped the cover with her finger twice it grew significantly in size. I wonderful spell she had searched for all of the last year and only found at the tail end of the term. At least it would be easier to carry around her books next year.

Professor Snape had given her a stack of six books:  
ETHICS, BARTIMUS SPINOZA (1677)  
HISTORY OF THE DARK, HEINRICH GRAETZ (1891)  
SIPUREI MASIYOS, NACKMON OF BRUSSELS (1816)  
COMMENTARY, SALAZAR RASHNOTT (11TH C.)  
GUIDE FOR THE PERPLEXED, MAGORIAN MAIMONIDES (12TH C.)  
MAN IS NOT ALONE, AIDEN HELGASCHEL (1951)

Each of the books looked ancient and as though they had been read over and over, but not dog-eared or worn. The books seemed as though they had been treated with care and respect. She wondered if they were from the restricted section or the professor's personal collection. She was jostled from the musings by a loud crash from the hallway. She jumped slightly in shock but quickly assured herself that it was likely nothing more than the twins playing some prank on one of their brothers, most likely Ron. She left the room to investigate the sound and possibly save her friend from the harassment of his brothers.

The others had left the house early in the morning. Hermione had taken her time getting dressed and making her way down to breakfast. She was dressed in a simple blue T-shirt and blue jeans and felt oddly naked when she spotted her professor sitting at the Weasley's kitchen table. He looked as though he had not gotten the warning about dressing in Muggle clothing. Or if he had, he had ignored it.

She nodded politely to him and made herself a plate of eggs and fruit. The food was sitting in the cupboard labeled 'breakfast' hot and ready to eat. Magic really was amazing.

"Professor?" Hermione asked after ten solid minutes of polite silence.

"Miss Granger," Severus responded not looking up from his newspaper. She noted that the text in the paper was not written in English. She thought it might be Russian, but she wasn't entirely sure.

She swallowed a bite of eggs neatly and dabbed the side of her lips with her napkin. She did not see the Professor noticing this action as he peered over the top of his newspaper. "I have a question. If Molly Weasley is a dark which by blood then how can she be considered a light which...by marriage?"

"Have you read any of the books I gave you?" The professor asked dryly knowing full well that the girl had been rushed around by the Weasley clan far too much over the last day to find time to herself to read books in private. Then again she was still wearing the time turner around her neck and could have stolen time to read.

"No," Hermione said in a small and obviously embarrassed voice.  
"There has been a long tradition of forced conversion of dark witches and wizards to the Light. This has taken the form over the centuries as: forced intermarriage, the theft of dark children to be raised by light families, and the current mode of denying the blood status of dark witches and wizards in favor of allowing them to convert through a wish to save their souls." Hermione could see that the man detested the last phrase. If he had been a showier man she imagined he would have raised his hands and waved them in the air whilst saying the words.

"Save their souls? Through Christianity?" Hermione asked. The concept of religion had not truly been broached in her years at Hogwarts. Her parents in the Muggle world were lapsed Anglicans. They celebrated Christmas and Easter but haven't been to church in years. It never really crossed her mind that although Hogwarts gave holidays for some of the major Christian holidays and even decorated for them she had never heard of any pureblood witch or wizard discuss religion.

"Light wizards have adopted some of the more enjoyable holidays from Christianity over the last few centuries, but not the belief system behind them. No, on the contrary, light wizards are in general atheists, believing in only themselves and their ability to do good in the world of the here and now." Severus explained. He drank from his black coffee.

"So… How are they saving souls?" Hermione asked still confused by his earlier choice of words.

"Simply an idiom picked up from the Muggle world. They feel that being a dark witch or wizard is a moral defect. They feel that we are the embodiment of evil." Severus explained.

She didn't know what to say to that. Snape simply held her stare for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary and then went back to his paper when it was clear that she wasn't going to respond. Their silence was broken again when the older Weasley boys joined them in the kitchen. Watching them eat was almost as entertaining as watching Fred and George. The two young men seemed to empty the contents of the breakfast cupboard in seconds. However, where the twins were an embarrassment to sit next to when they ate, the two eldest boys seemed to swallow their food whole, not a crumb left behind.

When the food was all gone Charlie looked down at the odd couple sitting at the kitchen table. "Professor, not to be rude but... You do know we are meant to show up in Muggle clothing. The camp is run by Muggles you see and-"

"I am well aware, Mr. Weasley. I prefer to change into my Muggle clothing at the last possible moment." The Slytherin said dryly. The disdain he felt towards the idea was clear in his voice.

"Unfortunately, I think that is now," Bill said looking at his watch. It would not have helped him to look at the clock on the wall as it didn't tell time, but rather the current condition of the members of the family.  
The group walked to the field behind the house and Hermione watched as each of the Weasley's vanished. They didn't simply pop out of existence, but their image seemed to be pinched at the center and then collapse in on themselves like they were being swallowed by a microscopic black hole. She didn't think that it looked very comfortable.

As if reading her mind perfectly Severus said, "It's not the most comfortable spell. The dark arts actually has a much more comfortable alternative where you transfigure your body into a pillar of smoke first and then the smoke collapses in on itself. However, as we are apperating to a Ministry regulated appericion point I can't be seen using dark magic. Otherwise, I would be more than happy to offer you an alternative to the discomfort you are about to experience." He looked at her for a moment before he continued. "Your first time can be... Disorienting at best. Brace yourself."

With that small warning, she felt the older man wrap his hand around her wrist. A half of a second later she indeed felt as though everything that she was being folded in upon itself rapidly. Then she felt as though she were being shot through a very narrow tube at great speed. She could hear voices and a howling of the wind. Then she was standing in a clearing in the woods next to her Potions Professor and several heads of red hair.

In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly. Bill and Charlie smiled at them and nodded silently walking past and seemed to be scanning the crowd of wizards milling about the space until they spotted something or someone. Bill suddenly made a beeline for an obvious Muggle holding a clipboard.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?" He asked smiling gently. The man had a look about him as though he had likely gotten Obliviated several times already that day.

"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley — two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door.

"You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night."

"That's us," said Charley.

"You've already paid." said Mr. Roberts.

Later that day Severus found himself in Mis. Granger's presence again. It was early afternoon and they were sitting in the den of the Weasley's tent. He had come there to get away from the others and she had apparently had the same idea. They had been sitting in silence reading for the better part of twenty minutes before the young witch broke the blissful silence.

"Professor?" She spoke again before he had time to respond. "I have another question. How is it rational to believe people are evil? I mean, I know they do evil things, but if a child is born to someone who has committed murder that does not make the child a murderer."

"It is rationality itself that we are dealing with. The Light does not feel the Dark is rational at all. The Light is a culture of reason and philosophy. The dark is a culture of a deep belief in Magic. The Light relies on the rule of law and a belief in their own moral superiority. The Dark believes in the rule of Magic and a belief in the power of prophecy." Severus explained while simultaneously not answering her question in the slightest. What was there to answer? Surely she was speaking rhetorically.

"A belief in magic?" The girl asked. She had a wonderful way of picking out one word, one phrase, one sentence in a long rant and picking it apart. A wonderfully irritating way, that was. He hadn't planned on engaging in a theological debate.

"You asked earlier about the religious beliefs of the Light. Did you assume the Dark lacked religious fervor simply because it is not reflected in their counterparts?" Severus asked. He wanted a drink. If he were back home in his dungeons he could be enjoying a nice fierwhisky right now. Instead, all he had was Molly's lemonade. It was wet. That was all it had going for it. It lacked bite and was entirely too sweet.

Hermione watched as her Professor scowled at his glass. "I thought… But I have never heard any of the Slytherins speaking about religion either…" She said when he finally looked up from the pale yellow liquid. She trailed off as she watched his gaze fall back down towards his apparently unsatisfactory beverage.

Severus wanted to go home and get some whiskey. It wasn't that he had a particular problem with the intoxicating drink, it was just that the girl's incessant questioning became easier to bear with a little fire in his stomach. "The practice of the dark arts is forbidden at Hogwarts. They have a whole class about it." Severus pointed out. He attempted for his words to be as dismissive as possible.

They were not, however, dismissive enough because not five seconds later Hermione had a follow-up statement. "Defense against the dark arts is about protecting yourself from offensive magic and dark creatures," Hermione said retaliatorily.

"Yes, that is what the class focuses on today. However, the ban stretches farther than that. The ban on the practice of the dark arts includes the practice of both our faith and our magic." Severus said in defeat. She had gotten a useful answer out of him, but he didn't have to sit there and take it. He promptly stood up and left the room without a further word to the teenager.

The match had been thrilling and the displays of the athletes, their magical creature mascots, and even the fans had been fascinating to watch. However, Hermione found that she had a hard time concentrating. "Professor?" Hermione began as she usually did but was cut off by the potions master.

"You haven't read the books I gave you." Seeing her about to jump to her own defense he raised a hand in the air. "You haven't had time with the cup and the Weasley's, but before you ask me another question please just read them. They will help. I have selected volumes that will give you both a light and a dark perspective on our history so that you might cobble together a truth for yourself."

Hermione looked as though she desperately wanted to ask her question. Just one more before the ban went into effect, but Snape's glare kept her at bay. Fine. She wasn't afraid of a little homework.

The next night they were sitting in the Weasley's den at the burrow by the fire, each reading from thick books of their own. The professor had a half empty glass of fire whiskey in his hand and Hermione was sure that she had seen him refill it at least twice with his wand. It was a neat bit of magic. Magic couldn't quite create the amber liquid from nothingness but somewhere in the professor's personal stock, a bottle was being emptied of its contents.

"I have to ask you, what does victory look like?" Professor Snape asked his most irritating student.

"What?" Hermione asked looking up from her book.

"In the war. What does victory look like? Is it…" He looked off into the distance as though he were attempting to find the words, to speak some unthinkable truth. "If we are honest with ourselves, is it really a complete and total destruction of dark identity? The total annihilation of dark magic? Is it an Albus Dumbledore chocolate frog card in the hand of every underage dark wizard? And if it is, what are we waiting for? Why are we sitting in here reading books and not out there rounding everyone up?"

"I don't know what it looks like, but I think we are hoping that someone will come up with a better solution than mass imprisonment, re-education camps, or total genocide." She said gravely.

"You are supposed to be one of the great minds in your generation. Have you thought of anything?" He asked the bushy haired girl.

"No." She admitted. She had tried. She had been over the conflict over and over and over again in her mind with every word she read of the books he had given her. There was no easy solution that she could find no obvious answer that the adults were too close to the problem to see for themselves.

"Neither have I. Neither has Albus Dumbledore and he is supposedly fairly intelligent as well."

~.~.~{}{}{}~.~.~

"Harry?" Sirius popped his head into the library. He had been looking all over for his son and finally broke down and asked a house elf. He hadn't even considered looking in the library. Bookishness, not something Harry got from him. Lily had always been an avid reader, though. He had come looking for Harry to tell him about the ball.

He never knew what reaction he was going to get from Harry. The boy refused to see reason and remained on the fence. He no longer fought him or tried to defend the Light, but he didn't support the Dark yet either. Sirius merely nodded at him and then said warily, "The Dark Lord has been asking many questions about you."

That peaked Harry's interest, "He has?"

"Yes, Lucius told him you were a parselmouth," said Sirius jovially, "and since then Our Lord has questioned me about you. He seems unconcerned about the prophecy. Severus is worried about that, but you shouldn't be."

Harry looked unconvinced. "How can he be unconcerned? I know you don't put much stock in that kind of prophecy, but most people seem to, and it directly threatens him..."

Sirius said in a happy bouncing voice, "He's intrigued by you, of course, and he has also heard that you're powerful and a strong student. 

Apparently, Snape even begrudgingly admitted that he thought your friends were holding you back academically at Hogwarts. He thinks you are capable of a great deal more. Obviously as a father that made me very proud of you, Pup, even if it did come from Snape." Sirius shook his head to clear it, realizing he had gotten derailed. "I don't know what his plans are regarding you, but I have seen him interrogating Snape about you, though I could only hear some words, enough to let me know that they were discussing you."

Harry looked pensive, "It plays in my favor, I guess, if he's interested in me, I mean. I think he's more likely to regard me positively. And accept that as another dark wizard, I am not a threat."

Sirius hummed happily. "He wants to meet you. There is going to be a ball! He specifically asked me to bring you."

Harry looked wary but also intrigued. Meeting the handsome boy from his dreams, seeing him while he, Harry, was awake would be nice. His dreams were often painful and he somehow knew it was because the young Dark Lord was angry, but sometimes Harry just saw him in peaceful moments, at a desk mostly... Harry shook his head. He should not be daydreaming about Voldemort! He got enough of that at night. 

"When is the ball?"

Sirius knew he was going to get it for this, he swallowed, "Tonight..."

~.~.~ 

Sirius took Harry shopping that afternoon. His old clothes may fit alright, but they were not really in style anymore, nor would they be suitable for a ball. They went to a tailor in Wizarding Praha named Horakovich.

In a matter of moments, the wizard had Harry on a stand, measuring tape in hand as a magical scroll automatically marked down the measurements he called out. Sirius sat down to one side and watched in silence. Once the measurements were taken, the tailor began showing Harry bolt after bolt of material - velvets, silks, and brocades - draping some of the cloth across Harry's shoulders to see how they matched his own coloring. Sirius found himself smiling in amusement - the boy might like the Gryffindor colors, but the Slytherin green suited him better. Brought out his eyes, Lily's eyes.

He said very little himself, letting Harry make the majority of the decisions, though he did inform Horakovich that he wanted an entire wardrobe - breeches, tunics, doublets, robes, cloaks, boots, riding breeches. Harry's eyes widened as he rattled off the list of items.

~.~.~

 

Tom Riddle was in a well lit large room sitting in a throne-like, high-backed chair that was raised on a low platform at the far end of the long hall off the main ballroom in Malfoy Manor. It was about two hours before the festivities of the ball were to commence. The room was suddenly full of swishing black cloaks as wizards started to apparate. They were hooded and wore silver white masks with delicately elaborate designs across them. One by one, they strode forward, some slowly and cautiously, others with great anticipation and excitement. They formed a huddled mass at the foot of the platform. Tom stood from his throne silently and waited for them. He could count around thirty Death Eaters.

This had to go right. He couldn't make any mistakes. They had to believe that he was the same Dark Lord they had served in the previous war. He hoped that Lucius, Severus, and Sirius hadn't left anything out of their reports.

Then the first Death Eater fell to his knees, then another, and another, until the room was filled with kneeling knights. A few at the front crawled towards him and kissed the hem of his emerald robes. "Master . . . You have finally returned to us," one whispered.

What could have appeared to an outsider as a humiliating show of subservience was seen in this close-knit band of brother knights as a sign of respect for a leader that was capable of ending their centuries old persecution.

"Welcome, Knights," he said quietly. "Fourteen years. . . Fourteen years since last we met. Yet, you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, we are still a force, and army united under blood and Magic."

"I smell guilt," he said. "It hangs in the air, cast it aside. You did not resurrect me. I was the only one who could resurrect myself. Your actions, though less than loyal, were done to protect yourselves and your families. I am not incapable of understanding your situations." Tom felt his anger starting to rise in him. He pushed it down. Lashing out at his followers at this stage would not be productive.

A shiver ran around the room. This was a collection of men and women not used to forgiveness. They had expected to be crucio-ed on mass.  
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! You slipped back among my enemies, and you pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. . . . " Tom felt his anger intensify and he felt the need to punish those who hadn't believed he was powerful enough to return. Those that had forgotten what they were fighting for and assimilated into the crowd of the Light, how easy it was for them to pretend, to forget their blood in exchange for comfort and prosperity.

He leaned over and hissed at a low volume to the wizard to his left. "Lucius, my cunning friend," he whispered. "You helped me regain a body. Though I wonder if you truly knew what the diary would do. Did you simply dispose of it to get rid of the evidence of your past loyalty to me? Or did you know that it would help me return?"

"My Lord, I suspected that the diary would help you. I remember when you gave it to me and told me that it was a key to your immortality. You did me a great honor and I wanted to help you return," came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly from beneath the hood.

"Ah, but only when the time was convenient for you. Why didn't you use it before if you truly wanted me back?" he said softly, but Tom felt the intense anger in himself.

"My Lord, I have been working to influence the Ministry of Magic. I was preparing the ground for your return-" said Lucius.

He interrupted him, "We'll see about that." He paused and said quietly, "Then you haven't assimilated, you haven't renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable light face. You are still ready to take the lead in a war for our survival?"

"I am, my Lord" Lucius said, resolute.

"As should you all," Tom said as his gaze moved around the room. "Now, enough business. Through those doors," Tom casually gestured to his right "is a grand ball Dear Lucius has arranged to welcome my return. The wards have included a confidentiality spell, so feel open to speak freely. Tonight's festivities will help us regain our allies in Europe. Allies that we will need in the English war. I expect you all to be your most charming." His smile grew.

~.~.~

The ball was in full swing and Sirius hadn't stopped dancing with some french wizard for almost an hour. The room was full of Europe's elite, all Dark, all powerful, all wealthy. Harry had thought about it and concluded that it was likely important for the Dark Lord to interact with other dark purebloods and prove that he was healthy and strong. Only his higher ranked Death Eaters had seen him so far, according to Sirius, and if he wanted more followers and more money for his war chest, he needed to show himself and prove his viability as a strong leader.  
Harry was sitting at a small table watching people dance, he could see a scowling Draco Malfoy being pestered by a determinate Pansy Parkinson. The adults were either talking between themselves and occasionally looking at the young couples or dancing as well. Harry was in a back corner of the room. Sirius had cast a notice me not charm on him so that he wouldn't be bombarded with questions or threats. This was the Dark Lord's return party so almost no one would know of his change in alliances. It was just easier if he sat and observed for now.  
Suddenly the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he felt an intense magical aura washing through his senses. His scar started prickling furiously but it didn't hurt at all. He opened his eyes and immediately locked gazes with narrowed eyes under dark black bangs that were watching him intently. Harry gasped and tensed when he recognized them from his dreams. Tom Riddle, Voldemort.

Voldemort was surrounded by some of his Inner Circle. Sirius had given him a crash course on the rank and file of the Death Eaters. Dolohov was hovering at Voldemort's side talking animatedly about something but he saw that Lucius Malfoy was watching him as well. The elder Malfoy's expression was unreadable. Malfoy whispered something to the dark lord. Voldemort continued staring at Harry. After a few minutes, he pulled away from Harry's gaze and answered Lucius. His expression made it clear he hadn't wanted to take his eyes off Harry. Harry for his part puzzled over the sense of loss when their staring match ended, but after quickly answering Lucius Voldemorts eyes snapped back and Harry felt relief.

Harry overheard a blond witch with an impressively large chest say to a thin witch with jet black hair next to her, "Have you seen who's here? It's amazing to see him in person. He exudes so much power and confidence. He's everything I imagined."

The second witch asked, "Who?"

The blond her eyes and replied, "The Dark Lord of course! He looks incredible and so young! I wonder how that's possible."

Harry saw Voldemort was talking to some witch now, once again forcing his attention elsewhere. Harry realized that the Dark Lord did look amazing. He was easily the most attractive man in the room, perhaps excluding Lucius Malfoy, but none other had his powerful stance and dark allure, few had his youth either.

Just then a couple on the dance floor glided in between Harry and the Dark Lord breaking their connection. Draco Malfoy was dancing with Blaise Zabini. Blaise leaned towards Draco and asked in a taunting and flirtatious voice, "Tell me, Draco, are you sure you don't have any Veela blood in you?"

Draco turned on the floor and said indignantly, "Of course not! I am a pureblood just like you!" Obviously missing the other boy's advances.  
Blaise grinned and said bringing Draco closer to him, "Are you sure? You do have platinum blond hair and milky white skin, just like them."

Draco arched an eyebrow and replied with a smirk finally picking up on things, "Ah, what you're trying to say is that I'm just as handsome as they are and that I exude a powerful magnetic attraction." Blaise chuckled and spun Draco away, they quickly became out of earshot.

Harry lets his attention fall back to the teenage leader across the room. Apparently, in the moments he had been watching his Slytherin classmates dance, Voldemort had begun talking with Sirius. Sirius raised his head to look at the table Harry was sitting at over the crowd. 

Voldemort was looking again too. Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow in his direction. This couldn't be good. Then his father began walking over to him, Lucius Malfoy in toe. Voldemort nodded politely to the assembled Wizards in a circle around him a exited the hall through a set of double doors.

"The Dark Lord requests your presence in the parlor." Lucius Malfoy formally informed him upon reaching the table. Next to him Sirius was beaming, rocking from heels to toes. The motion looked ridiculous in dress robes.

"Requests?" Asked Harry. He did not HAVE to go?

"Orders if you would prefer...?" Lucius clarified.

"Go on, Pup! Nothing bad will happen." Sirius assured him. Lucius raised an eyebrow skeptically.

Harry shakily rose to his feet and the two death eaters walked him to the same double doors that Voldemort had just passed through.

The room was dimly lit with a few clusters of candles here and there. There were two sets of armchairs on either side of opposing couches. Everything looked very old, detailed and expensive. Tom was standing behind a high-backed chair. Harry chose to remain standing as well. 

Tom looked up at Harry the moment he entered the room. Harry felt as if struck by a wave of magic cascading off the other teen. It felt glorious, it made his skin tingle and his heart race. Tom, seeing his reaction pushed out his aura again causing another wave. Harry sharply inhaled. Tom smiled. He had unfurled his aura initially as an intimidation technique, but this reaction was far more useful. The boy 'liked' the feel of it. He could work with that.

"Harry Potter, or more accurately Harold Black. The boy who lived. I believe I owe you a chat. Last we meet I was in a bit of a hurry to get out of Hogwarts. I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said Riddle. 

"For the chance to see you. To speak to you." He purred.

"Look, sir," said Harry, losing patience, "I don't know why you are so interested in me, but... I'm not going to make any trouble... -"

"We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling broadly. Tom pulled a long thin object out of his robe pocket, Harry's wand. Harry's original Phoenix feather wand Tom had stolen in the chamber. Harry picked it up. It felt like home. "Thank you, for lending that to me. I have a new wand now, but that wand was oddly well suited for me. It was of great help to me, so again, thank you."

"Y-your welcome." Harry stammered. He had never expected to see his wand again.

"I owe you another debt of gratitude. You found me after Ginny disposed of my diary. Harry, You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet . .. ."

"And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady. Why was he bring this up? Harry might have learned a great deal about the Dark, come to understand their stance, but reminding him that their leader all but killed an eleven-year-old girl? What was Riddle playing at?

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said Riddle. "Your whole fascinating history. " His eyes roved over the lightning scar on Harry's forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could."

"When I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work... I never anticipated the hell I would put myself through. The diary was my prison. In its pages you can't feel anything, see anything, smell anything. I was trapped alone with my thoughts for fifty years, and then there was a voice. Ginny poured her soul onto my pages and I was so desperate for something, anything, any contact with another human being that I soaked it in... I soaked her in..." Tom explained.

"She is trapped now. Just like you were. You trapped her there, in that book." Harry bit out.

"I know. I had no choice. I won't lie to you. I would do it again. I would have done anything to escape." Tom said.

"That's almost exactly what she says when she writes to us," Harry said. "Do you know how to get her out?" He pleaded.

"I do," Tom said succinctly. "I didn't at the time, but I have had some time to work on the magic."

Harry's eyes went wide at that. "You have to tell her family!" Harry demanded.

"They are light wizards, Harry. She is from a family that fights against us." Tom reasoned.

Harry paused thinking quickly. "Then... Then I'll trade you for the information!"

Now that was something, "What are you offering?" Asked Tom.  
Harry said with determination, "My loyalty."

Voldemort regarded him in slight amusement and said tauntingly, "And what makes you think I'm interested in the loyalty of a child?"

Harry's temper did flare this time. 'A child?!' That was a bit of the pot and the kettle. Here he was in front of the all-powerful Dark Lord and he looked to be about seventeen. Harry hissed in parseltongue, "I might be young, but I managed to kill you once. You might be better off with me on your ssside."

Voldemort seemed to be slightly surprised. Hadn't he believed the Snape about him? Harry wondered. He had seen him in the chamber of secrets, he must have known he was a parselmouth. Ginny must have told him. Maybe he was just not expecting him to use it?

Tom returned his gaze to Harry and pondered about the boy. He had heard much about him, both from Lucius and Severus, the boy's father couldn't be trusted not to inflate his son's accomplishments out of pride, but also from other external sources, newspapers, and books written about the boy who lived. He had been skeptical about the boy's parseltongue abilities, even when his presence in the chamber of secrets confirmed it, but he had been pleasantly surprised and intrigued when the boy proved to be indeed a parselmouth. Most interesting. When he had first seen the boy, he had felt instantly that Harry was very powerful...and something else. Tom felt a pull towards Harry. It had struck him before that they were really very much alike in their circumstances. Both half-bloods from magically powerful dark families. Both brought up in inhospitable conditions in the Muggle world. Both schooled in the crushing embrace of the Light. Both initially ignorant of their lineage. They even looked alike.

But there was something else about the boy. Something more than just similarities. There was something in him or on him to which he felt a certain connection, a pull towards. He couldn't discern what it was. He would have to find a way to see him more often, to find out more about him, to know everything about him, to control this puzzle of a boy….But what to do with him now? In the future, he would mark him of course, but right now he was still too young to fight openly for the Dark. He was still too untrained. "You are untrained. You will be of no use to the Dark unless you can fight to protect our people. You must return to school and continue your studies."

"You're sending me back to Hogwarts?!" That had been the last thing Harry had expected Voldemort to say.

Tom rolled his eyes. He really was dealing with a foolish child. "No, obviously, I'm sending you to Durmstrang."

Harry was confused. "Dum-stang?"

Severus must have been joking, this kid was a moron. "There are other Wizarding schools than Hogwarts, Harry. Did you honestly think the forty to sixty students in each year at Hogwarts represented the sum total of the Wizarding children born in Europe in a year? There are millions of Wizards in the United Kingdom alone! Hogwarts is the elite school for the strongest magical children. It is also terribly expensive and thus caters to the wealthiest of families. There are nearly one hundred schools of witchcraft and wizardry on the British Ills. You, however, will be going to Durmstrang, Eastern Europe's elite school and also Hogwarts equivalent for the Dark. You will be safe there. The majority of the students are from Dark families and the teachers are primarily Dark, many are among my ranks. Have Severus introduce you to some of them when you go back out into the ballroom."

Harry was dumbfounded. How could he have been so naive as to never have considered that there would be schools other than Hogwarts? Now that he thought about it there had been clues... Hadn't Ron mentioned almost not being able to afford to go?... Neville had said something too about how he might not have been strong enough... Wait. The Dark Lord wanted to send him away? To a school where he would know no one? Wouldn't people recognize him? Surely someone would tell the Light? 

"Won't someone recognize me and alert the Light?" Harry asked.

"You would wear a glamor over your scar..." Tom walked up to Harry slowly. He pushed back his bangs with a long elegant hand, letting his fingers trail against the scar his older-self had left. When he touched Harry's skin he felt the most delightful hum of magic. It sent goosebumps up his arm. They both gasped slightly, intaking breath. Tom stopped himself from reacting any more than he already had. Ignoring the wonderful hum he ran a finger down Harry's cheek and continued, "I can raise your cheekbones, elongate your nose, make your jaw slightly more pronounced. We can say you are Regulus's bastard son with some Slavic witch. No one will recognize you. No one will turn you in. No one will take you." Tom was still touching Harry's face. Harry looked so relaxed, so peaceful at his touch. He must feel the hum as well. Was it just their magic interacting? Were they simply magically comparable? The boy's father had mentioned that his mother of them saw them together in her visions... Tom pulled his hand away reluctantly. Straightening himself he said, "Durmstrang is very different from Hogwarts. It is a boarding school, but students often return home to their families on the weekends. You will use that time to train with tutors that I will appoint for you." He had not intended to offer that. The hum... He had felt compelled to protect the boy and it had popped into his mind and then the words just spilled out.

"You will train and you will take the Dark Mark when you're older," Tom said coolly.

Harry ignored that comment, he was still on the fence about the Dark, he couldn't see how he would ever agree to be marked, not now nor in the future, but there was no reason to tell HIM that yet. He needed Voldemort to like him to stay alive. And what had that humming been! Did Voldemort do that? Why would he want to make Harry hum with pleasure? Was he coming on to him or something? It had felt amazing, but it had come out of nowhere. One minute Voldemort looked like he thought Harry was incredibly dense and the next he was caressing his face and making his skin melt into goo?! He needed to get out of this room and think. Was there anything he could say to make a polite exit? He couldn't risk offending the guy that had been trying to kill him for most of his life, he might start up again.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Tom was having similar thoughts. "You should return to the ball. Find your father and inform him of what we discussed." Tom said dismissing him.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in.

~.~.~

Travers stumbled into the north antechamber to find a lanky man in his late thirties needing at the feet of his Lord's chair. The man was hooded, and the room was dim but his gestures, build, and voice placed his age to a wizard in the prime of his life. Travers had not intended on finding anyone in the room. He had intended on finding somewhere quiet and out of the way to sleep off his drunkenness before attempting to apparate. Much better to come home to Lady Travers late and be scolded for his tardiness than not come home at all having splinched himself.  
The Dark Lord looked up. Travers realizing he had now been noticed, straightened himself and attempted to walk forward as smoothly as possible. The result was a stiff lurch forward, a small trip and then a stumble until he too was kneeling before the dark haired teen. Hoping beyond hope that he appeared more nervous than inebriated he lowered his gaze and said, "My Lord."

The Dark Lord who always appeared impassive had a slight irritation shining behind his eyes. "Lord Travers, I trust you have a good reason for your interruption?"

Travers looked to his fellow kneeling knight for help, but when his eyes caught the face of the wizard next to him he saw a man he had hoped to never see again. Sirius Black. "W-w-wh-at!? What are you doing here?" He struggled to his feet as quickly as he could muster and fumbled for his wand.

At this outburst, the Dark Lord rose from his seat. "Yes, I suppose being far from the inner circle you would not have had much interaction with my faithful servant, Lord Black." The Dark Lord rose slowly. His slow voice had the effect of calming the intoxicated knight ever so slightly. Surely, if his Lord and Master trusted this man and was so calm in his presents then he, Travers had no cause for alarm.

For the first time, Sirius looked up, "I was a spy, John." Serious pushed back his hood in an attempt to be less threatening, "When I was young I befriended light children and made myself appear to fall for Dumbledore's manipulations. My parents gave me to the Dark as a spy as a very young child, but I have always been faithful."

"You were an Auror," said Travers, snorting contemptuously. "You killed many dark wizards and helped in their capture. And now you tell me you are a loyal son of the Dark?"

"I've never killed anyone," said Sirius calmly. "I was an Auror and I did fight in the battles, but I wasn't responsible for any of the killings. In a battle, I protected the Dark as much as I could while still maintaining my cover."

Travers looked dubiously at the thin man to his left.

Tom having had enough of this distraction snapped his fingers calling for a house elf, "Bippy, please take Lord Travers home. I am sure Lady Travers will be wanting him home." The small creature wearing a clean black silk napkin like a toga bowed to the handsome teen and placed her hand on the drunken wizard's leg. In a soft pop, they were gone.

~.~.~

Harry left his room and went searching for a house elf to help him find the kitchens. Sirius had been gone for hours and must have forgotten to tell the elves to bring him his midday meal. Now he was wandering the halls opening doors at random and hoping that an elf would be behind one. He pushed on what must've been the 20th door he had tried and found a hideous, old shriveled house elf stooped over a low to the ground wooden chest. The elf was rummaging through objects that clicked as he muttered under his breath, "Master ups and moves from mistresses house, not a care in the world about what he leaves behind, but Kreacher is a good house elf, Kreature will bring mistresses treasures with him, Kreature will never break his promise."

Harry stood at the door not knowing what to do. Should he interrupt the elf? He seemed so engrossed in his rummaging and muttering. Harry coughed to make his presence known.

The wizened elf jumped 6 inches in the air. Startled, he turned around as quickly as his old knees would allow. "Oh, young master, Kreacher did not see you there. Is there somethings Kreacher can be doings for young master?"

"I was just a bit hungry," Harry said sheepishly. It felt wrong asking for help from the elf, but he really was getting quite hungry. He was a teenage boy after all. As Kreacher moved away from the chest the light from the window across the room fell onto its contents. The sunlight bounced off of something in the chest and the light was reflected directly into Harry's eyes. Harry shut his eyes and turned his head to the side. He stepped sideways out of the light, "What do you have there? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Of course nots," Kreacher said joy filling his eyes. He hobbled over to Harry and picked up the end of Harry's finger pulling him towards the chest as he walked back to it. "Kreacher is a good house elf," his chest swelled with pride at these words, "Kreacher is keeping his promises to Mistress. Mistress is telling Kreacher to protect her treasures. Kreacher is keeping them safe. Young master's father was forgetting them in Grimmauld Place. Kreacher is remembering to bring them."

Harry look through the box of trinkets. it held a variety of objects from pocket watches to jewelry to magically preserved flowers. He found a silver pocket watch with an ornate B etched into its face. The family monogram was a common theme in this box it seemed. The late Mrs. Black had obviously been very fond of the family heirlooms. Then as he was shuffling through objects he felt something cold and unsettling but oddly alluring. He reached down into the box until his fingers brushed against a small gold locket. The locket felt warm to his touch though the air around it felt unnaturally cold creating a perplexing contrast. A gold locket was on a simple gold chain with a delicate ornate clasp. The locket itself had a subtle S on its face.

"This one has an S…" Harry said more to himself then to the elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you liked this chapter. Let me know if you would like me to add in some world cup action. I kind of wrote around it. Any notes for improvements are welcome and appreciated.


	6. Summer's End, Dragon Ally, and The Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Sirius says goodbye to a Summer with Harry at home, Tom gives Harry a new face, Harry and Draco strike up a tentative friendship, and a new prophecy reveals itself.

Sirius was helping Harry pack for school. They were meeting Draco and Lucius in three hours. Sirius was attempting to impart his considerably lacking wisdom about the school, "Sturm und Drang, literally translates as 'tempest and urge' or 'charge and rush' or 'storm and stress'."

"Do you know where it is? The robes that they made us get look pretty heavy." Harry folded a pair of trousers and packed them into his new trunk. New... Everything was new. New clothes, new books, new ... Everything. Except for his wand. He had HIS wand back.

"Norway, but it is unplottable so no one knows for sure. It is rumored to be on mount Galdhøpiggen, surrounded by lakes Gjende and Russvatnet. You had better practice your heating charms, it's going to be very cold." Sirius levitated a stack of folded sweaters into the trunk. "I know you played for Gryffindor's team, seeker, you fly well. Do you think you will try out for one of the teams? This kid, Victor Krum, he goes there, he plays seeker for Bulgaria. Lucius was telling me about him. He saw him play at the World Cup this summer. I wish I could have taken you, you would have loved it." Sirius looked sad, disappointed in not being able to give Harry the upbringing he deserved. "I watched you fly last year, you have a gift. You shouldn't give it up."

"I don't know... The Dark Lord wants me to train with the death eaters on the weekends. I might not have time." Harry said, packing his potions supplies into his cauldron. He was rather nervous about his weekend training sessions.

"Well take your broom all the same, just in case you find the time to remember you are still a kid," Sirius said shrinking Harry's broom and stowing it in his trunk.

Harry was silent for a few minutes too long, "Durmstrang was founded sometime during the Middle Ages, I think, by Nerida Vulchanova. It was Professor Harfang Munter who established Durmstrang's reputation for emphasizing martial magic as an impressive part of its curriculum. They teach all kinds of things you don't have at Hogwarts: Blood Rituals, Spell Creation, Dark Creature Relations, Pureblood Etiquette, History of Dark Magic, Gobbledegook..."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The two had spent the last week of the summer together as much as possible. They flew the matching set of Firebolts to Sirius had gotten Harry for his birthday, in the manor's quidditch pitch. It was about one-third the size of the field at Hogwarts, but it was perfect for the two of them to take turns playing chaser and keeper. Harry showed off his seeker skills too, catching the snitch every time and ending the game. For Sirius, it reminded him of the times he shared with his brother Regulus, before his mission had progressed and he had been sent to live with the Potters to spy for the Dark. For Harry, flying gave him a sense of home in a world that seemed to be constantly shifting on him. Soon he would be going to a new school too.

In the evenings they sat by the fire, Harry would read the books Sirius would recommend and Sirius would read Denní Věštec, the Wizarding paper out of Prague. Sirius had given Harry a large stack of books and Harry was devouring them. It seemed that without Hermione to rely on, or Ron to distract him, Harry had quite an appetite for reading. In truth, there was little else to do in the wizarding world. You could only play chess or exploding snap so many times. You could only ride your broom for so long before the muscles in your inner thighs started to protest against you. The books weren't half bad. Wizarding History, when taught by a ghost completely devoid of charisma or theatrics, was a chore to listen to. Wizarding History, in the books Sirius was giving him, was completely unlike the books Binns would assign. These writers were impassioned, thoughtful, and often hedged their arguments in legal precedents. They spoke of the history of dark oppression. They spoke of countries casting out dark families, of light ministries boycotting imports from dark sympathizing countries and of mass murders by roaming gangs of light wizard vigilantes.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Are you ready?" Sirius asked for the third time. Harry it seemed had forgotten more things than he had remembered to pack.

Harry came out of his room with his photo album in hand. Sirius had made it for him to replace the one Hagrid had given him in his first year. It had pictures of Lily from school, from a vacation she, James and Sirius had gone on in Spain, and pictures that Sirius had kept for himself of Lily holding his son in her arms as a baby. It also had pictures of Sirius from a young age before Hogwarts, pictures of Regulus and Harry's grandparents, and pictures of Sirius with Remus Lupin. Harry treasured it.

"Forgot my album. I think that really is the last of it." Harry had never had so many possessions before. The Dursleys only gave him Dudley's hand me downs and although he had money in the wizarding world he couldn't risk his relatives finding out about it and demanding he turn it over to them.

Sirius, for his part, had made an effort to lavish Harry with gifts. He had missed the majority of his son's young life and he wanted to make up for it. Harry had new clothes, new games, new brooms, a new trunk and school supplies. Sirius purchased only the best for the Black heir. Harry was more than a little embarrassed, but it was worth it to see Sirius's eager grin. Harry thought back sometimes to their less than warm first meeting. Kidnaping was not exactly the ideal way to be reunited with your family, but somehow they had gotten past it. Sirius was fun, charismatic, and full of joy. It was hard to associate this vibrant man in his prime with the prison haggard man Harry had met in the Shrieking Shack at the end of the last term.

"Good, we are keeping the Malfoy's waiting and Lucius can be such a prissy little ponce when he is made to wait. Would never call you out on it directly, but the guy is totally passive aggressive, what a girl!" Sirius rambled. Harry chuckled a little to himself. Talking about Lucius Malfoy and Snape always got Sirius riled up. Harry realized that they were likely the closest thing Sirius currently had to friends, but having been trained to hate them to fulfill his role as a spy had left some lasting impressions. The animosity was real, even if they were openly on the same side of the war now.

"How are we getting to Durmstrang? I mean, I know we are meeting up with the Malfoy's, but you never actually told me HOW we are going to get there. Do they have a train like Hogwarts?" Harry asked. It was like pulling teeth to get a question answered sometimes. Sirius wasn't like the Dursleys, he encouraged questions, but he lost his train of thought a lot. He was always getting distracted and off topic.

"There isn't a train. Couldn't get to the island could it?" Sirius started shrinking Harry's trunk and putting it in his pocket. Harry gave him a pointed look. "Portkey"

"What's a portkey?" Harry asked.

"A magical object that transports a wizard or a group of wizards to a specific location. They are a rather tricky bit of charm work. Not many wizards can make them, so they are not used very often. Most people prefer to use the floo network, apparition, or brooms in a pinch. For long distances though you can't beat a portkey!"

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?" Harry asked imagining an actual key.

"Well, they can be anything," said Sirius. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles won't go picking them up and playing with them. They are usually made by the ministries for public use, so the government likes to choose objects that just look like rubbish. Private use portkeys tend to be small personal items like jewelry or coins. That reminds me..." Sirius fished around in his pockets. He pulled out a small silver ring with a ring of diamonds around a black stone with an engraved capital B. "I have been meaning to give you this. This is the Black heir ring. It is a portkey to this manor and it will bring you back here. It works on blood magic. A nice little piece of security. Just prick your finger and touch it to the stone and it will bring you back here instantly. It also has a charm so that only the Black Lord, me, or the Black heir, you, can remove it. It was made to protect the heir from attacks or abduction. If you ever run into trouble use it." Sirius leaned down and slid the ring onto Harry's right hand's ring finger. Straightening up he started patting down his breast pockets. "Somewhere in here... I've got..." With a victorious look on his face, he pulled out two identical mirrors about the size of his palm. "Here, you take one and I'll keep one. They are a set. This way you can call my name and I'll be able to talk to you through the mirror."

"Like a phone!" Harry exclaimed excitedly. This seemed a lot better than writing letters back and forth all the time.

"I wouldn't know...never used one..." Sirius said looking confused. "You look into the mirror and call my name, it gets hot and vibrates in my pocket, I pull it out and then I can see you and you can see me. Very handy devices. Used to be very popular with dark families. Fire calls are fairly common now as they are a lot less expensive than commissioning a charms master to create a looking glass. These small ones have been in the family for generations. My mother had a full size looking glass that is only one way. It can see anyone in the family at any time. Very good deterrent from rule breaking. With her Sight and the mirror, she always knew everything Regulus and I were up to."

Harry stuck the small gold mirror in the breast pocket of his robes. He smiled up at the taller wizard, "Great, I'll make sure to call." Harry felt strange. He had never had anyone care how he was doing at Hogwarts. The Dursleys would have probably been thrilled if he had kicked the bucket while at school. Now he had someone who was worried about him. It was a new feeling, but it was good.

"Well, we should get going. Lucius won't wait forever." Sirius ran his fingers through his shoulder length hair, brushing it out of his eyes. "We are going to floo to Drak Spojenec to meet up with Lucius and Draco, and then we will portkey to the coast, and you and Draco will take a ship to school. I wish I could go with you, but the last thing a teenager needs is his father hanging around when he goes off to a new school."

Harry realized in that moment that most of Sirius's life as a free man was spent at school. It was just about the only thing he talked about. He loved telling stories about his and James's pranks on Snape or his time spent running in the woods with Remus. Now he, Harry, was his closest companion on a daily basis. After years spent under the watchful presence of the dementors, it must be terrifying to imagine life alone again. "I'll make sure to call you on the mirror...Maybe you could write to professor Lupin? He is a dark creature after all... Maybe he would understand."

"You are too perceptive for your own good sometimes, Harry. But... I can't write to him. He is a light wizard, Harry. He must hate me." Sirius hung his head.

It struck Harry that where Snape's role as a spy was an easy one given his sour nature, Sirius had made true friends in his time with the light. His life must have been extremely difficult compartmentalizing his mission from his happy life as a Gryffindor prankster. "He's not just a light wizard though is he? His lycanthropy must change things for him. He was in hiding as much as you were growing up. You can tell he isn't accepted by the Light. He's scared, stressed and tired. His boggart was the moon! He hates who he is and it's probably because of how the Light treat him. He needs a friend. Please say you will write to him." Harry's speech was said with large impassioned eyes staring up at the older wizard.

"The moon?... I knew... But, I didn't think..." Sirius muttered to himself. "Oh, Moony..." He whispered. Then straightening up he resolved, "I'll write him."

"Good. Now we have some impatient blond brats to meet." Harry said walking towards the fire. The hearth was full of dancing orange flames. Sirius picked up a box from on top of the mantle and threw a handful of its powdered contents into the flames turning them green.

"Drak Spojenec!" Sirius called into the flames as he and Harry stepped into the oversized fireplace.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

On the other side of the flames, Harry and Sirius tumbled out onto an ancient cobblestone street in Wizarding Prague. "Welcome back to Dragon Ally, Pup. Anything you need to get while we are here?" Sirius rummaged through his pockets looking up into the air as if taking a mental inventory of the shrunken objects his pockets held. "We do have to make a quick stop before we meet up with the Malfoys. A certain someone had to make a few adjustments to your face. You can't exactly go around school with a notice me not charm on all the time. How would you make friends?"

Harry followed Sirius as he walked along the alleyway. If Muggle Prague looked like something out of a fairytale, wizarding Prague was even more so. Quaint little two to four-story buildings lined the streets, their brick and plaster walls painted in bright cheery colors. The rooftops thatch or red clay tile and in some cases copper green-ed with age. Ornate stained glass windows were lined with stone sculptures, ceramic pots in front of the shops were filled with beautiful flowers. They stopped in front of a small tea shop with a sign with silver raised lettering over a black field. The Slavic lettering rearranged itself into English before his eyes. "Serpent's Venom, what an odd name for a tea shop."

"Snake venom is used by a lot of seers to read tea leaves," Sirius explained. "Come on, we don't want to keep him waiting."

They entered the dark smokey shop. It was nearly empty with only a few patrons sitting at tables. An old crone was reading cards in a booth, her eyes milky white. Her companions were a cheery looking young couple holding their hands together tightly. "They must be expecting," Sirius whispered knowingly, "Come to find out the future of their child no doubt."

Harry's examination of the scene was cut short when a bubbly young woman in a flowing silk robe stepped in front of his view. "Lords, I believe the man you're looking for is in the private room, shall I take you to him?"

Sirius smiled roguishly, "Thank you beautiful." They followed her through a wall of heavy velvet curtains to an intimate sitting room where none other than the Dark Lord was sitting with a tall and exquisitely beautiful witch.

She had dark brown skin that complemented the elaborate beading of her jewelry. There must have been twenty pounds of beading hanging from her ears and neck over her simple black silk robes. When she turned to face the new arrivals Harry saw her eyes were milky white. She blinked several times and the color returned to them. She smiled warmly at them, "My Lord," Her eyes never left Harry as she bowed.

The Dark Lord spoke breaking Harry from his trance-like fascination with the beautiful witch. "Will you excuse us Landy Zabini? I have some matters to discuss with Lord Black and his... nephew."

She nodded and left, her silks billowing behind her as she walked. Harry could hardly keep his eyes off her. She was certainly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The Dark Lord waved a hand towards Harry and his body was hoisted into the air and plopped into the chair next to his.

Bewildered, Harry made a soft "eeep!" as he hit the chair. For the first time, he let his gaze settle on the older teen.

"She is a striking woman, Lady Zabini. However, I would warn you not to take too much interest there. She gained her reputation as the Black Widow honestly." Tom said silkily. His voice was smooth, but Harry could feel a shifting in his magical field that made him wonder why the Dark Lord was suddenly so angry. Harry decided it would be wise not to say anything in response. After a moment or so the magic in the room seemed to settle a bit. Tom reached a hand towards Harry's face and gently brushed a thumb over Harry's scar. Waves of magic radiated from the contact. Harry's eyes closed in pleasure. Tom pulled his hand back. He conjured a short blade and cut the pad of his thumb. Brushing the blood across Harry's scar he muttered an incantation. Tom wiped the blood from Harry's forehead revealing smooth skin underneath. He traced Harry's jaw, cheekbones, and temples with his still bloody thumb subtly altering them as he went. "Take off your shirt and turn around" Tom ordered.

Harry was thrown out of his happy reveling in the pleasure of the magic coming off of the Dark Lord. "Wha-?"

The Dark Lord waved a hand and spun him around vanishing the robes and shirt off of the younger teen to the coffee table. Tom stood very close to Harry. He reached down and placed his thumb on the base of Harry's spine. As he drew his hand up Harry's back Harry screamed in pain. The manipulation of his face had been mildly painful, but the pleasure from the waves of humming magic had dulled it to nothing. The feeling of his spine splitting, stretching, and pulling was just too much for the hum to dull. Harry's vision went white with pain. He couldn't hear anything over his own screams, and just as suddenly as it had started, it ended. Harry collapsed into a pair of strong, lean arms that lowered him into his chair.

"That should be sufficient to keep you out of trouble," Tom said sitting back down in his chair. "Lord Black, you may take your son now. I believe you have a boat to catch. Do send Lady Zabini back in on your way out."

Sirius bowed at the waist and collected his son. Walking him out of the room, Lady Zabini nodded to them on her way back in, apparently not needing to be prompted to return to her Lord.

"What happened in there, Pup?" Sirius asked as they left the dark tea shop and entered into the sun-soaked street.

"Shouldn't I be asking you?" Harry asked just as bewildered.

"I'm a bit in the dark myself, the two of you went all fuzzy after he conjured the knife..." Sirius admitted. "I couldn't see or hear a thing until he spoke to me. He must have done a number on you. I wouldn't recognize you if you hadn't been in front of me the whole time... You look like my brother Regulus, and you are about four inches taller than you were. "

"That explains the pain," Harry said rubbing his back. Now that he thought about it, he was having a little trouble walking too. "He cut his hand and ran his blood over my face and back."

"Blood ritual. That's a tricky price of transfiguration. I wouldn't doubt it if it was only able to be undone by him, keyed to his blood." Sirius mused. "Your scare's gone. That will help."

They talked about the changes as they walked towards the rendezvous point. Sirius kept pulling Harry towards shop windows to look at the displays. Harry smiled. It struck Harry that his father's attention was easily diverted by shiny whirling objects.

"You can't stall forever, sooner or later we are going to have to meet up with-" Harry paused as two tall blondes walked into view from around a corner. The trademark platinum hair was hard to miss. "-the Malfoys."

"Damn," Sirius said under his breath, rolling his eyes. It was amazing how utterly arrogant two men could look. In their long frock robes with subtle Malfoy coats of arms embroidered onto the elaborate hem and cuffs. Lord Malfoy's long platinum blonde hair reflected the Summer sun. The younger Malfoy may not have had the impressive length to his hair, but it was no less fussy, pulled back at the nape of his neck in a short ponytail. Not a hair was out of place due to his ample use of product. When they reached Harry and Sirius, each of them gave a short bow at the neck, a gesture that was returned by the Blacks.

"Your anticipated tardiness gave us the opportunity to purchase Draco here a new set of potions ingredients. For that, we thank you." Lucius said superiorly, looking down his long patrician nose at them.

Draco for his part looked utterly bored and a little sulky. The younger blond was throwing a half-hearted glare at Harry. His father had warned him ahead of time that his looks would have been altered. Draco mused that he really didn't look all that different. He was taller, scarless, with higher cheekbones and a sharper jaw line, but the messy black hair and goofy glasses were still there. Draco couldn't stand his situation. The golden boy of Gryffindor had somehow managed to switch sides, gain a prestigious pedigree, and charm the Dark Lord into forcing Lord Malfoy to send Draco to Harry's new school as a pseudo bodyguard. Draco was not particularly pleased. The only upside was that this change in school would get him far, far, far away from Pansy. He had been in a marriage contract with her since they had been small children. At the time their respective parents had thought it would be a wonderful match and would bring the two powerful families together. Now, it was evident to the Malfoys that the Parkinson girl's greed, gluttony, and gross manners, made her a less than desirable mate for their son. Nevertheless, the contract was a contract, and this one was magically binding. Nothing short of the young witch getting pregnant could break it. Luckily, there was no wedding date or deadline stated in the contract and Draco had an indefinite amount of time in which to postpone the wedding. This plan did not deter Pansy from hanging on Draco at any given opportunity. Draco was honor bound to accept her affection and not embarrass her.

"We should get a move on, Potter. We don't want to miss the boat." Draco drawled lazily.

"Black." Harry corrected. "I'm going to be known by the name Harold Black. I can't exactly go around as Harry Potter anymore. "

Draco looked him straight in the face. "Then you might want to ditch the glasses." Draco sneered.

"Good idea Draco," Sirius said plucking the glasses off Harry's face. He pulled out his wand and made quick work of transfiguring them into more stylish rectangular frames. He handed them back to his grateful son. "That should help you blend in a bit. Now everyone grabs onto this coin, it is our portkey for today." Everyone dutifully grabbed on to the large coin and they were sucked away.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The four reappeared on a cold rocky shoreline beneath a gray sky. Groupings of other Wizarding families were peppered along the rocky beach. Before Harry had time to observe the other families a loud crash was heard about a kilometer off the coast. Harry stared at the sea as waves clapped and tumbled in the distance. And then something began to emerge from the depths. First, a crow's nest, then a sail, then another until finally, a whole wooden ship emerged from the sea. It was massive. The ship slowly approached the shoreline and all around him Harry saw parents hugging and kissing their children goodbye.

Before he knew what was happening he too was swept into a tight embrace. "You'll be great, don't forget to be a kid, play pranks, call me through the mirror if you need me. I'll see you at weekend." Sirius muttered into his son's hair.

He stood back and pulled Harry's shrunken trunk out of his pocket and handed it to Harry. Harry pocketed it and smiled up at his father. For the first time in his life he was going off to school and someone was going to miss him, worry about him, care how he was doing. It was everything he had ever wanted as a child of neglect.

"Come on P-Black, we haven't got all day," Draco said edging Harry towards the boat.

They walked over to the queue of students waiting to get onto the boat. "Look, Malfoy, for one reason or another we are both stuck with each other. We might as well try to be civil."

"You rejected civility when we were in our first year," Draco said haughtily.

"You were a brat in the robe shop." Harry pointed out. Harry threw his head back, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "I made a judgment. One you haven't proven wrong." Harry smirked at that last part.

"Regardless of you ill-informed opinions..." Draco started.

Harry cut him off by offering his outstretched hand, "Truce?"

Draco looked at the offered hand of his schoolboy rival for a moment and then rolled his eyes, "Like I have a choice. I was ordered to stick close to you, might as well not get cursed doing it."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry found the ship ride similar to the train ride to Hogwarts. Students sat in small compartments and a little old man came by with a trolley of pastries. Harry and Draco had a compartment to themselves.

"Do you know anyone who goes to Durmstrang?" Harry asked.

"Some, but not many and not well. Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore — the man's such a Mudblood-lover — and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we had at Hogwarts. . . ." Draco said looking out the porthole at the waves and holding his stomach. Draco was not a boat person and was having a rather difficult time holding back the contents of his stomach.

"Don't look out there; it will only make things worse. Focus on the conversation. It will help. Your friends at Durmstrang, how do you know them? What are their names?" Harry asked trying to keep Draco's mind off of the tossing and turning of the sea around them.

"Death Eater children from parties mostly. If I had known I was going to be shipped off I would have made a point to get to know them better over the years. We are not likely to develop lasting friendships coming to school half way through. Everyone will have already established their friend groups." Draco lamented. Harry found it mildly humanizing that Draco was concerned about whether or not he would be able to make friends. Then again he was likely just lamenting losing his status as Slytherin's Prince. In a school where nearly everyone was from a wealthy pureblood family, Malfoy was no longer special.

"Like the ball when the Dark Lord announced his return?" Harry asked. Draco nodded. "Do you go to parties like that often?" Harry imagined a life going to glamorous parties and assumed the allure would wear off rather quickly. Prior to the ball, Aunt Petunia's dinner parties were the fanciest events Harry had ever seen, and he hadn't exactly been allowed to go to those.

"Unfortunately yes. I am not really one for balls or dancing, but mother enjoys them and father is required to be seen at such functions to discuss political matters." Draco explained. "Wait... Were you at the ball for the Dark Lord's return?" He asked, his eyes widening to the size of an owl's.

Harry nodded, "Under a notice-me-not charm. You were dancing with Blaise Zabini." Harry said remembering the way the two boys had glided around the dance floor joking and laughing.

"Like what you saw Potter?" Draco said raising an eyebrow.

Harry's cheeks turned beet red, "s-not like that."

"I'm only teasing Potter." Draco reassured him "lighten up."

"Black" Harry corrected. "You can't keep calling me Potter."

"No one else is here, Black." Draco gestured to the empty compartment in wide sweeping motions. "No one heard, I'm not going to blow your cover." Draco said rolling his eyes, "What is your cover anyways?"

Harry took a deep breath, "I'm Regulus Black's bastard son. My mother was an Austrian witch that died in childbirth. I grew up in a wizarding orphanage and was only recently discovered by my uncle, Sirius, when he escaped from Azkaban. I went to a small local magic academy in Austria for my first three years as it was all the orphanage could afford." Harry recited the story Sirius had fed him. He had said that the Dark Lord had constructed the fiction himself and manipulated enough memories to make it appear real.

Draco looked at Harry like he was the daftest person he had ever met. "Potter... Did it not occur to anyone that you do not speak a word of German?"

"Ah!" Harry said holding up a finger and digging into his pockets, he pulled out a handful of candies. "These are charmed, I will be able to speak German fluently for up to two hours after eating one. My father gave me a whole bag of them..."

"You have an English accent." Draco said deadpan.

"The teacher at the orphanage was British." Harry supplied. He found he quite liked this game.

"Well it seems you have it all figured out," Draco said looking a bit disappointed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes at a loss for what to talk about until Harry's eyes lit up. "Hey, you went to the World Cup, didn't you? We couldn't go. It was in England this year and well, for obvious reasons..."

"Yes, wouldn't want your father to get caught by the Aurors and have to go back to life as an orphan would you?" Draco drawled, "The game itself was fairly exciting. Ireland won, Krum got the snitch. My father spent most of the time stopping the other Death Eaters from getting too drunk or too boisterous. Honestly, he was babysitting. Everyone was on strict orders to be on their best behavior, but some fools just can't pass up an opportunity to get sloshed."

"No one did anything too terrible though? I didn't read anything in the papers, my father didn't mention anything..." Harry asked

"No, the real fun is starting in a couple months. They are starting up the Triwizard Tournament again." Draco informed him.

"What's that?" Harry said without the slightest show of recognition on his face.

Draco rolled his eyes. "It is a contest between the three major schools of magic throughout Europe, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. It has not been held for over a century. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. One of the many things I'm blaming you for is my not being able to be at Hogwarts for this. Durmstrang only sends a handful of students. As you can't go... for obvious reasons, neither can -" Draco was cut off by a knock at the door.

Harry got up and answered it opening the door. A tall thin boy with jet black shoulder length wavy hair and dark black eyes was standing next to a polished looking blond girl with perfect ringlet curls pinned close to her head. The two looked to be around Harry and Draco's age if a bit tall. "We heard der vas a cupl new students for ze fourth year." The pretty witch said. "I'm Anika and this is Gavrial. Ve are going to be fourth yers too."

Gavrial's gaze landed on Draco. "Young Lord Malfoy, it is a pleasure to see you again. I had not hoped that it would be you, but I am quite pleased...who is your friend?" He gave a winning smile, his eyes sparkling.

Now it was Draco's turn to blush, "Gavrial, it has been ages. This is Harold Black."

Harry reached out a hand towards the tall boy, "Nice to meet you." Gavrial shook the offered hand.

"A pleasure to meet a Black. I have not been acquainted with your family accept through Draco's mother." Harry tried not to look puzzled. He made a mental note to ask Draco about that comment. Were they related?

"Err- right. Pleasure." Harry stumbled over his words.

"So, Draco, why are you transferring schools so late? Did they kick you out of Hogwarts?" Gavrial joked.

"Nothing of the sort, Father simply felt that the curriculum was too remedial and that it was high time I be properly educated." Draco explained, "Father had always wanted me to go to Durmstrang, but mother didn't want me so far from home." It struck Harry that it sounded odd for Draco to speak openly about his closeness with his mother. Henry had always seen the Malfoys as a cold family.

"She is comfortable with your leaving now?" Gavrial asked politely.

"She is adjusting," Draco confirmed. "She takes comfort in my going to a school in a part of the world where our kind is able to practice our arts more openly." Draco pulled out a tin with a supply of sweets and cakes from home and offered them around.

"Yes, of course. England is not known for their tolerance of our people." Gavrial said consolingly.

"-Arold, ver ave you been educated these last three yers?" Anika asked

"In a small village school in Austria," Harry answered. Anika looked surprised.

"A Black in a village school? Your mother must be even more protective than Draco's." Said Anika.

Draco interrupted trying to make his face look as compassionate as possible, "Harold is an orphan, we only just found him."

Anika nodded sympathetically. Gavrial looked interested but refrained from asking any follow-up questions. After an awkward moment, Draco suggested playing exploding snap. The four played the familiar game passing the time until they felt a heavy thud on the side of the ship. They had hit land.

The ship slowly unloaded onto the rocky shore. When they emerged into the sunlight, Harry was in awe. He didn't know what he had expected, but he was impressed. The castle was massive. Rather than being one centralized fortress-like Hogwarts, Durmstrang was a walled city on the side of a mountain. To Harry's surprise, they were not on an island at all, though the mountains wrapped around this peninsula protecting it from the land beyond. Looking back towards the sea Harry saw an impressive wall enclosing the harbor with a massive iron gate in its center.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Durmstrang teaches freedom with responsibility. Students live in houses in the village while classes are held in the castle." Gavrial explained pointing to the small houses. "The concept is that a school that coddles its students fails to prepare them. We do not have houses like Hogwarts to divide us, but instead build a community to unite us." As he explained the crowd of students moved towards the walled city leaving the first years, Draco, Harry and a handful of older students behind on the shoreline.

A short, but stunning auburn-haired witch raised her wand shooting green sparks into the air to get the crowd's attention. "First years and new arrivals, come with me to the assignment ritual, there we shall see what can be made of you." She said in a loud voice. She motioned for the assembled to follow her and turned. The group walked for about ten minutes down the shoreline. She led them to a monolithic stone altar encircled by much smaller stones that jutted out of the sand.

Standing behind the altar was a wizard in his seventies with a rough brown beard and coarse shoulder length hair. "Welcome! Welcome! I'm headmaster Karkaroff. Please make an alphabetical line by last name. First years only please, we will assign the transfer students separately."

There was a great shuffling and a good deal of noise as the eleven-year-olds attempted to get in alphabetical order. Harry wondered if this exercise was more to get the students to talk to each other and learn one another's names more than anything else. Once the students were in line the headmaster spoke again, "Alrik please step forward." A small blond boy moved forward, nervously approaching the altar. "No reason to be afraid, son. Just place your hand on the altar and wait." He said reassuringly.

The small boy placed both hands on the great stone, after a moment a column of light appeared. The headmaster reached into the light and pulled out a silver coin. He brought it to his eyes and read "Healer! A fine calling my boy!"

Gavrial who had come to watch the assignment whispered so Draco and Harry could hear him. "The stone is said to be drenched in the blood of some of the world's greatest seers. Even today the families of dark prophetesses bring their fallen's blood to feed its magic. The coins show a student's greatest potential and the school is here to nurture that potential."

Harry watched as around sixty students were sorted until he and Draco were the only students left. Some student's coins were read aloud while others were whispered to them privately.

"Black, it's your turn. Please step forward. Haven't had a Black in Durmstrang for generations. Glad to have you." Harry approached the stone.

The stone was dwarfing. A massive boulder of alum shale. Harry placed his palms on the stone. He could feel the magic pulsing through the rock. The column of white light appeared as it had for every student before him. The headmaster reached into the light and when he brought his hand back he was holding a large silver coin. On one side of the coin was a symbol Harry had never seen before. It was a triangle divided in two by a vertical line. The points of the triangle went to the edges of the coin. On the other side was an oil lamp and a crown. "My word..."

The headmaster stared at the coin as if inspecting it for authenticity. He didn't look at Harry. His eyes were downcast when he said, "Please follow me to my office after I sort young Lord Malfoy."

Harry stood at the alter confused. Why didn't the headmaster tell him what the coin meant? How was his coin different than the others? Was something wrong? He felt like he had as an eleven-year-old boy in Ollivander's shop being compared to the murdering monster he had only just learned killed his parents, all because his wand was made of materials similar to that of Voldemort's.

Harry slowly turned and walked back to Gavrial. During the Hogwarts sorting ceremony the entire school watched. Apparently, students were free to leave after the assignment ceremony. The beach was almost empty. Only Draco, Harry, and Gavrial remained with the headmaster. Harry turned his face to look up at Gavrial searching for a clue as to whether or not this was normal. Gavrial didn't seem worried or curious, but from his perspective, it might have looked like the headmaster just shared his assignment privately with Harry. He tried to push his nerves down and watch while Draco was assigned. The blond was walking up to the altar, his typical arrogance was gone and replaced by the same nervousness Harry felt. Draco placed his palms on the great stone, the light came, the headmaster plucked out his coin and chuckled, "Like father, like son. You will follow your father's example and pursue a life immersed in our law. A fine path. I have no doubt you will be a great asset to your-" the headmaster paused as if realizing he might be saying too much. "Family." He finished simply. Then, without any pomp, the ceremony was over.

"That's it?" Harry asked Gavrial is a whisper.

"What were you expecting?" The taller boy asked in looked honestly puzzled at the question.

"I don't know, something more...more than that. No one even stayed to watch." Harry was all spectacle and dramatics. It's ceiling made of stars, halls lined with talking portraits and suits of armor, even the grounds were adorned with the giant squid in the lake and the whomping willow. Durmstrang, in contrast, appeared austere.

As if reading Harry's thoughts, the other boy's eyes lit up, "You were expecting pomp and theatrics? It is an important ceremony of course, but we don't tend to overdramatize our rituals here. This is not the only time that most students will use the stone, merrily the first. As these first years grow and learn, their paths might change and they will go back to the stone for guidance privately. There will be no crowd, no one to judge their assignment." Gavrial explained.

Harry thought he understood. At Hogwarts, the sorting ceremony pitted students against students and pigeonholed children by the personalities they appeared to have as 11-year-olds. Here if they can truly go back and get a new assignment, there was no need to feel permanently cast in the role you took on your first day of school. Furthermore, it was a personal role not a sorting into a collective. Harry had never really thought about it before, but the Hogwarts system was designed to foster rivalries. As a Gryffindor, he was placed with other students who were similar in personality to himself. But being a Gryffindor wasn't all about bravery. Their bullheadedness, laziness, and aggressiveness fed off each other and was only calmed by Hermione, who really should have been a Ravenclaw.

Draco walked back to their small group with a smug smirk on his face. "Well that couldn't have gone better," He said tossing his coin into the air and catching it. "Scales and scroll. A life immersed in study and the law. Father will be pleased. He always wanted me to pursue law or politics. What did you get, Black?"

Harry looked sheepish. When the Headmaster had been calling out professions, Harry had assumed the coins had writing on them. He wasn't expecting to get a collection of symbols he didn't understand. "I don't really know...there was a weird symbol on one side with a divided triangle and a lamp and crown on the other." He said looking up at Draco and Gavrial for answers. Draco looked like he was juggling several thoughts at once, not sure which to speak first. Gavrial looked shocked.

Draco spoke first, "Did the headmaster say what they meant?"

"No, he just asked me to go to his office," Harry replied.

"Then you should. It is on the ground floor of the main castle near the entrance. It is not difficult to find. Shall we accompany you?" Gavrial asked.

"Sure," Harry said.

As they walked from the beach to the city gates, Harry thought about how weird things always seemed to happen to him: the rebounding spell with Voldemort when he was a baby, his parselmouth abilities the school discovered in the second year, and now something was wrong with his coin. Harry had hoped that this fresh start would allow him some chance at a normal life. He didn't even fear his yearly encounter with Voldemort because now they were on the same side. The Dark Lord even seemed to like him for some inexplicable reason.

They had reached the city walls and Gavrial, their self-appointed tour guide, was telling them about this history of the city. It struck Harry that the taller boy sounded a lot like Hermione. They walked through the village, little houses and shops were scattered throughout with students already milling about. The shops were manned by house elves and occasionally older students. "Freedom with responsibility remember? Most of our meals are not held in the dining hall. We are encouraged to cook for ourselves in our own homes. The students are housed two to a house so that they learn how to share a space, but are not overburdened by distractions." As he spoke he gestured in large sweeping motions.

After the little wooden houses, came the small stone shops, and after the shops came larger stone buildings with elaborate stained glass windows depicting different magical creatures and plants. "These buildings house magical creatures and plants for students to study, obviously nothing with too high a level of sentients. We wouldn't want to keep anyone enslaved just for study." He chuckled.

Past the stone buildings was a large clearing where students were already practicing a martial art with wizard staffs. "Physical control and a deep connection to your magical core work hand in hand, martial magic has always been an important part of our tradition." In the center of the clearing was a witch around fifteen with short brown hair dressed in a form fitting dragonhide top with a long leather skirt slit to her upper thigh on both sides. She was fighting two young men that looked a little older than herself. They circled her attacking and retreating. Harry had never had Combat Training, unless he could count the pitiful dueling club from his second year. This was beautiful to watch. Harry watched as both boys attacked simultaneously. The young witch did a spinning kick taking one attacker down while her staff brought down the other. She landed with her first attackers head between her legs and her second magically unconscious behind her. With a quick sweeping motion, she brought her staff down on the first boy knocking him out as well. Harry and Draco were impressed, to say the least.

"We use a style that is known for emphasizing threat neutralization, simultaneous defensive and offensive maneuvers and aggression. It is ... extremely effective." Gavrial explained. Harry and Draco just nodded dumbly.

Past the sparing ground were steps leading up to the castle's great doors. They were thirty-foot tall stained glass doors with an intricate design of a moose, eagles and, wolves on a field of green. The castle itself was much smaller than Hogwarts. Harry had assumed from a distance that it would be quite large, but now that he was closer he saw that it's height and size appeared large due to its being built into the side of the mountain. The castle structure itself was likely only four stories tall even if the individual stories were quite tall in and of themselves. "Does anyone live here? Or is it just classrooms?" Harry asked their de facto tour guide.

"The headmaster is the only one who lives in the castle itself. The teachers have small houses among the students." Gavrial explained. As they approached the final step the doors began to slide aside welcoming them into the entrance hall. To the right was another set of stain glass doors leading to an auditorium of sorts. The design on the glass depicted two wizards dueling. To the left was a wall of glass windows and doors enclosing an office that was something similar to Dumbledore's but far more inviting and full of light. Instead of Dumbledore's whirling instruments, this office was filled with books and scrolls. Behind the desk sat the Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff. He was reading a long scroll and adding notations. He looked up as the doors to his office opened and Harry walked in alone.

"Harold Black." The older wizard said, blinking his eyes.

"Headmaster, you asked to see me? Was there something wrong with my coin?" Harry asked nervously shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

The headmaster blinked again and rolled his scroll up. He tied a green ribbon around it and placed at the side of his desk. "Please, have a seat." Harry pulled out one of the two tufted leather chairs and took a seat. "Hm... Mr. Black... You come to us from a village school in Austria?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered shortly. Was that it? Had the Headmaster figured out already that his past was a fiction? Harry sat and waited for this line of questioning to continue as the headmaster seemed to bide his time whilst thinking of the best question to ask next.

He settled on, "You lived in a magical orphanage before learning of your true heritage." It was a statement, not a question.

Harry answered it regardless, "Yes, sir."

"And you were taken in by your uncle, Sirius Black this past year." Karkaroff seemed to be becoming more comfortable. Harry nodded. "I have never met your uncle, but I have heard good things. He is a credit to his name... As you will be... Your uncle did not attend Durmstrang, thus I have not seen his coin." He pulled a large silver coin out of the pockets of his black fur-lined robes. "I have never seen a coin like this in all my time as headmaster of this school. Nor do I believe has another headmaster since the late 1800s... though that coin was not quite as unique as this..." He placed the coin down on the desk. The face of the coin showed an oil lamp that reminded Harry of Aladdin's lamp. "Do you know much about our oral history, Harold?" Harry shook his head. Oral history? Our? Did he mean Dark Wizarding history?

The headmaster sighed, "According to Dark tradition, the Oral History of our people was passed down orally in an unbroken chain from generation to generation until its contents were finally committed to writing following the destruction of the Dark Temple around two thousand years ago by Light Wizards, when the Dark was faced with an existential threat. This history became even more crucial to our preservation of our culture in the sixth century when we faced the threat of Merlin."

Harry blinked. Was he receiving an impromptu history lesson? "Excuse me sir, but what does this have to do with my coin?"

"I'm getting there," Karkaroff reassured him. "There is a story in our history that you should know. In the ancient times, wizards lived in small tribes. There came a time when the rule of judges of the Wizengamots were not enough and Magic created a single powerful Wizard to rule over the Wizarding World."

"Are you talking about Dark Lords?" Harry asked.

"Dark Lords are... warriors ... Wizards of great power and ambition that are inclined to fight for an end to Dark persecution... They assume the title, but it is not used correctly..." He paused and took a deep breath. "The honorary title Lord is given to wizards of great power and passed on down family lines by the Melek... the King."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you liked it. Next chapter will be more Hermione and Snape focused. You may also be wondering at this point how Remus is doing. He has a chapter coming up too. Let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions. Thank you.


	7. A new year, a broken trio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As students return to Hogwarts, Hermione is no closer to finding her missing best friend. Hermione Reads something interesting. Malfoy is missing from Hogwarts. The Tri Wizard Tournament is announced. Moody makes his appearance. Snape has a cover story. Snape expresses his reservations. Hermione finishes her homework for Snape. Hermione has suspicions. Hermione makes a breakthrough.

Hermione Granger was used to being told she was the cleverest witch of her age. She was not used to being stumped by a problem. She conquered problems, she located the problem, researched the problem, attacked the problem and ultimately solved the problem. This problem didn't seem to be quite as easily defeated as ones she had faced in the past.

She was sitting in the library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her neck was bent over a book on owl post. Somewhere in this book or in the other six she had stacked up next to her there had to be an answer to why her and Ron's letters were not getting to Harry.

Her first thought was that there might not be a person to deliver the letters to anymore. However, that would mean that Harry was dead and that answer was not acceptable. Her second thought was that Harry was simply too far for an owl to fly. This would mean that he was also too far away for her to get to him and rescue him. Another unacceptable answer. Then she began to research, and research led to wondering, were there ways to prevent owls from getting to a person? As she quickly discovered, yes there were. There were also ways to get around such methods. She just had to figure out how the messages were being blocked, and then she could devise a means to get around the problem. This had led to extensive experimentation, sending nearly all of the Hogwarts school owls out each carrying an identical message asking if Harry was alive and well. Each bird had been spelled, transfigured, or charmed to get around different wards, jinxes, hexes and in a few cases through very thick walls. None of the birds had been successful.

Hermione remarked that this could very well have been the first of Harry's birthdays since they met that she had not been able to send him a birthday present. She broke out into hysterical giggles, attracting more than a few looks from the teachers and the librarian who were using the research library over the summer just as she was. She calmed herself down, but it had been quite a funny thought. Harry could very well be dead, and she had momentarily felt guilty for not sending him a birthday present.

~.~.~

Hermione's eyes widened as she read a paragraph of Ancient Blood Wards and Familial Magic. She had found it. She read it over again. And again. Yep. This was it. Harry was behind Blood Wards.

Blood wards were a dark magic, unlike anything Hermione had ever read about. They were layers upon layers of wards constructed out of familial ties. The Lord of the house through every generation put on his own distinctive wards, protecting his family and his descendants. Blood of the family was required to pass through the wards whether by owl, floo, or apparition. That would make him impossible to get to without a blood relative that was keyed into the wards.

It would also mean that Harry was Sirius Black's son, just like he said. What did THAT mean?! Had Harry accepted his place as the son of a death eater? He had been gone for months now. He could have developed Stockholm syndrome by this point.

He was somewhere in a family home with the lord of his house, Sirius Black. Dumbledore had already been to tons of Black properties only to find Sirius Black's distant relatives living quiet lives. He must have missed this house in his search.

While she worked on trying to get Harry a message, Dumbledore focused his efforts on searching for the missing hero. In addition to searching all known Black property holdings in England, Dumbledore had searched suspected death eater hideouts from the first war. He had so far had no luck. The elderly wizard was growing more and more frustrated and weary.

Snape had been decent company over the summer, but not particularly helpful. He was obviously researching something, but whenever they spoke it was never about his research, only hers. She wondered what path he had been looking down. At some point, she had even suspected that the man didn't want to find Harry, but then he would point out a flaw in her approach and she would reconsider.

Still, classes would be starting again soon and she was feeling a great deal of pressure to find Harry, get a letter to him, or just have some way of confirming that he was still alive. If he was behind Blood Wards now, then he might now always be. If she could send Hedwig to not deliver the letter, but rather search for Harry in an attempt to return to him...She flipped through a few pages of a book she had set aside that morning... Owls could seek their familiar.

~.~.~

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive, the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Hermione could see the carriages approaching Hogwarts though they were blurred behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as the carriages came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Hermione felt very isolated in that moment watching her peers run up to the great wood doors. She had been in the castle for the better part of the Summer and didn't feel the same excitement for the new school year that she had grown accustomed to.

She made her way down the magnificent marble staircase to the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, that was already beginning to fill with drenched students. She spotted Ron alongside a few of the other fourth year Gryffindor boys.

"Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soaked!"

Hermione slipped thru the crowd until she was standing with the group and entered the great hall ready for a return to normalcy, even if they were still missing the third member of their trio.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleaned by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Ron and Hermione walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall.

The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but Hermione couldn't persuade herself to care this time. Instead, she mentally reviewed the books she had been reading. Snape had given her a large stack and she had been told not to seek him out until she had finished them. Now she was almost finished with the last book and she was looking forward to finally getting answers to her numerous questions. What she didn't want to admit to herself was that she also had grown to miss the man. It was lonely in the castle during the Summer and he could be witty and even funny at times. He was wildly intelligent and if she caught him in a good mood she could even get a pleasant conversation out of him.

Hermione looked up at the staff table searching for Snape. There he was scowling down at the students as usual. It was then that she noticed that there seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too... It took her a moment to realize that the DADA professor was missing. Professor Snape had mentioned that the headmaster was hiring and ex-Auror named Moody. Snape did not seem to like the man.

She was jostled from her thoughts when the door behind the head table opened and an older wizard whom she presumed was the man in question slid into the room and took his seat next to Professor Snape.

Every inch of skin on the man's face seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head so that all they could see was whiteness.

Hermione was a little ashamed of herself to admit that she found the man's appearance frightening. Even though she knew he was a valued and respected member of the law-enforcement community, she couldn't get past his gnarled face and ragged dress. She reasoned that someone who had that many scars likely knew a thing or two about finding dark wizards and was more than qualified for the position. Still, she would miss the kind Professor Lupine. It really was absurd that he was forced to leave at the end of the semester. He hadn't done anything wrong. He was no less qualified, no more dangerous than he had been at the start of his short career. She wondered what had become of him. What other sort of job might he have taken? For that matter, what had he been doing before Hogwarts?

She watched Snape as he scowled at his fellow teacher and took a sip from his cup. Until this Summer Hermione would have assumed that he was drinking pumpkin juice like the students and the other teachers. She had learned that whatever Snape was drinking tended to have at least a touch of alcohol. She had never seen him drunk, but he always seemed to be drinking. She supposed there must be a charm or potion that he added to dull the effects.

Hermione found herself listening half-heartedly to the sorting and Ron's commentary as she watched the professors interact. Moody's magical I seem to be constantly searching the room taking particular interest in one student or a specific patch wall every now and again. She wondered what he could see that she couldn't. It would be a horrible thing to be in need of a magical eye, but a useful consolation prize. When Dumbledore stood to give his speech she was so lost in thought that she almost missed him say:

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

The assembled crowd of students were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Hermione, for her part, could not have cared less. She had been interested in watching the games when Harry was the seeker for their house, but they didn't offer much of a chance for entertainment for her when all she would probably be thinking about was her missing friend. She had been wondering who might replace Harry on the team. It seemed insensitive somehow to replace him.

Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

She was shocked. She had, of course, heard about the tournament, or rather read about it in Hogwarts: A History.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament . . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

Hermione took the opportunity that was offered. How could the ministry, let alone the school, not to mention Dumbledore even think about having an event like this when Voldemort was on the rise again? When Harry Potter had only been captured a few months ago and was no closer to being found? What were they thinking!

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another. Had they completely forgotten the all-but-death of a student two years ago and the kidnapping of another last year? Now they were risking more lives for some game? What was the point? Someone had to have had a reason for bringing the game back now of all times. Were they trying to distract people from the war? Were they trying to unite people through competition? Hermione knew from growing up watching football that that rarely worked. If anything it served to make people more nationalistic. It seemed like more than what could be explained away as a coincidence that the Quidditch World Cup was between a historically dark leaning country and a light country and that in the same year the ministry saught to resurrect a deadly international competition with a historically dark leaning of school among the contestants. They were pitting school against school, light against dark, while simultaneously distracting from the real conflict going on around them.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

~.~.~

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as Ron and Hermione examined their new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad . . . outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures . . . damn it, we're still with the Slytherins. . . . And Double Divination this afternoon," Ron groaned, looking down. He wondered if Professor Trelawney would keep predicting Harry's death, now that he was missing and presumed dead.

"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" said Hermione. She wasn't really paying attention. Something had seemed wrong last night and she was trying to figure out what it was. The great Hall felt like something was missing. She assumed that it was just Harry, but it was something else, or someone else.

There was a sudden rustling noise above them, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville Longbottom and deposited a parcel into his lap — Neville almost always forgot to pack something. Watching the post owls deliver packages was one of her favorite morning routines. There were always the same predictable deliveries. On the other side of the Hall, Draco Malfoy's eagle owl would land on his shoulder, carrying his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. She searched for it in the mass of birds but couldn't find it. She wondered if it had already delivered the package. Looking over to the Slytherin table, she realized that the blonde wasn't there.

The whole table, in fact, looked somber and disjointed. It was clear that Crab and Goyle didn't know what to do with themselves. They were sitting on either side Blaise Zabini, who instead of giving orders or pompously bragging about this or that just sat quietly eating his food and speaking to no one. He got up without a word a few minutes later and the two larger boys scrambled to shove a few last spoonfuls of fried potatoes into their mouths before hurrying after him.

Was that what had felt so different? Was the prince of Slytherin not attending Hogwarts this year? She shook her head and dislodged the thought. He was more likely just sick and would be coming to school a few days late. He might very well already be in the castle but in the hospital wing.

"Ron, have you seen Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"No, and I wasn't looking for him," Ron said through a bite of eggs.

"He wasn't at breakfast and I don't remember seeing him at the welcoming feast," Hermione said.

As more and more students started gathering their things and leaving the hall, Hermione and Ron followed suit.

"He's probably just, I don't know, sick or something. Why do you care? Got a crush on him?" Ron said accusingly.

Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. "No. I just think it's strange. The Slytherins are acting strange too. I don't think he is sick. I think he isn't coming back this year."

"I hope you're right. Good riddance to bad potions, I say." Ron replied. They had herbology first. It was the perfect class to have first. Nothing was ever terribly difficult; if anything it was a calming class.

It was a nice enough day outside, even if it was raining a little. Hermione noticed that the vegetable patches were full of interesting and exotic things popping out of the dirt. "Don't you think it is strange? Harry was kidnapped last year and now Malfoy is missing too?" Hermione pointed out.

"Wait a second, all this time Harry and I have been saying he was a death eater, and now, what? You think he is involved in Harry's being missing?" Ron asked in shock and a little too much glee.

"I'm not saying that… I just think it's odd." Hermione said defensively. They had reached the greenhouse. There the conversation died. They were too distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants Hermione had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told them briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus —"

A few disgusting hours later a booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. The Gryffindors were joined by the Slytherins and there was still no sign of Draco Malfoy.

~.~.~

"Moody!" Fred said. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," said George, sitting down opposite Fred. "Supercool," said the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he told Hermione and Ron.

"What was it like?" said Ron eagerly.

Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning. "Never had a lesson like it," said Fred.

"He knows, man," said Lee.

"Knows what?" said Ron, leaning forward.

"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," said George impressively.

"Doing what?" said Ron.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," said Fred.

"He's seen it all," said George.

" 'Mazing," said Lee.

Ron dived into his bag for his schedule. "We haven't got him till Thursday!" he said in a disappointed voice.

Hermione cleared her throat. She had had about enough of this. Everyone was raving about the new defense against the dark arts professor. Apparently, he had seen a Hufflepuff boy picking on a first-year and had cursed him with an elephant's trunk for a nose for the rest of the day. She didn't understand why the humiliation of a student by an adult was something to be deemed as cool. She also was starting to wonder why they should be making a hero out of a man who was little more than a law enforcement professional. "I don't see what the fuss is about. He assaulted a student. He is a grown man, a fully trained wizard, a former Auror, how can it be cool that he humiliated a student under his care?"

"Hermione!" said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, "you're ruining one of the best moments of my life! You should have seen it! It was brilliant! His nose just kept growing and turning gray… And then he blew it like a foghorn! Amazing!"

Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again.

"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" said George, watching her.

"Got to," said Hermione thickly. "Loads to do."

"But you told us Professor Vector —" Ron started.

"It's not schoolwork," she said. Within five minutes, she had finished her meal and was through the doors. She wandered her way down to the dungeons making sure that she was extra careful not to be seen or followed. Professor Snape asked her to meet in his potions classroom that evening rather than in the library. She knocked quietly with three small taps on the door before she received a harsh "enter." From the other side.

No sooner had she entered the classroom and Snape started addressing her. "Miss Granger." He said with a nod. He raised his wand arm and started making quick movements in the air mumbling under his breath. Hermione heard soft clicking sounds and felt a mild breeze for a moment.

"You are sealing the room?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. We will do all of our work here unless we are forced to meet elsewhere. During the school year, it would not be safe for us to be seen together. I have appearances to maintain." Severus explained.

"Yes, of course, sir. I was wondering how you would maintain your position as a spy if you were seen helping me. This makes sense." Hermione concurred.

"Please understand that I will not be able to treat you with any familiarity outside of these sessions. If anything, I may be forced to treat you with renewed hostility to maintain appearances." Severus elaborated.

"I would not have expected anything more, sir," Hermione replied innocently, but there was a gleam of mischief in her chestnut eyes.

The potions master narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor. "All right. Now, I have a suggestion for a cover story for you. I do not believe it would be believable to say that you are receiving multiple detentions. That might have worked with others, but even though you lack creativity in your work, it is nevertheless typically above the quality of the average student and would not merit a single detention let alone a multitude of detentions."

"What did you have in mind, sir?" Hermione asked. She had been considering suggesting herself as a teacher's aid but was curious to see what the potions master had in mind.

"From time to time I am required to produce potions for the different departments of the school. In addition to this, I have a rigorous research schedule and appear in multiple publications throughout the year. I take my academic career very seriously. I would be willing to offer you an apprenticeship if you agreed to make it a reality rather than simply a farce. You could have a very successful career as a healer. The prerequisite coursework for becoming a healer is, of course, an apprenticeship in Potions and Antidotes." Snape explained with a grimace on his face that looked like he would rather have said anything else other than admit to the student that her work was not abysmal.

"So, you don't think I could be a potions master?" Hermione asked with a chuckle. She knew full well that she just received a compliment from the most feared professor in school. Inside, her A-type-personality-heart was aglow.

"As we have discussed before, Miss Granger, you lack the fundamental creativity required for the art. However, you are more than proficient in copying the works of others. You would make an excellent healer." Snape said with a sneer.

"Thank you for the compliment sir," Hermione said fighting the urge to giggle.

"Don't get used to it. I don't hand them out often." Snape said with a scowl hiding his own amusement.

"I have noticed. Three years of being one of the best in your class." Hermione said under her breath.

"You are well aware of why you do not receive compliments in my class. Show some initiative and creativity and you might, at least in private, earn one." Snape said in a harsh voice. "Our new arrangement will give you a plausible reason to be in my presence and a regular basis and give us a cover for long private meetings," Severus said getting back on topic.

"Will have I be able to tell Ron about what we are doing?" Hermione asked.

"I see no problem with it as long as he can keep quiet," Severus said walking over to his desk and shuffling some papers.

"Sir? I was wondering, what have you been researching?" Hermione asked out of nowhere. It had been nagging her all summer. It was clear that they were researching two very different topics.

"I am, of course, researching ways to help Harry Potter," Severus said without further explanation.

"It's just… I have been researching how to get a message to Harry. Dumbledore has been searching for Harry… I can never read the language on any of the books you are reading. I haven't even been able to identify it." Hermione said opening up the conversation for further explanation.

"I have been researching many topics as my mind flows from one possible solution to another," Severus said.

"And the language?" Hermione asked again.

"It is a spell on the books that I read. To anyone looking to read over my shoulder, or from across the table, They appear to be in an undefinable foreign-language." Separates explained.

"For most of the Summer, we were alone in the library. Why the need for such secrecy?" Hermione asked.

"Even if the room is empty, there are always eyes and ears seeking out secrets," Severus said with a soft voice and then after a pause he added. "Especially at Hogwarts."

Realizing that she was not going to get a real explanation she decided to move on. "When would you like to meet, sir?"

"As you are still wearing that infernal time turner, I do not imagine that it matters to you at all. I would prefer, however, to limit your usage of it as much as possible. I do not believe you are aware of how much the change has overtaken you. It will become noticeable to others soon. Puberty can only hide so much of your change. You are already at least a year older than your peers. With another year at Hogwarts at this rate, you will lap them again. Women might mature faster than boys, but you will become noticeably distant in age as a 16-year-old standing next to 14-year-old girls." Snape explained, his eyes possibly lingering too long on her body.

"Well, I am glad you have put so much thought into the development of my person," Hermione said sarcastically, instinctively crossing her arms over her newly developed chest.

"I meant no disrespect. I was merely pointing out the danger of the path you have chosen." The professor explained.

"I'm only taking two extra classes this term. I won't be using it nearly as much." Hermione said defensively.

"If you can control it. Are you aware that its usage is addictive?" The professor asked assuming that the headmaster and her head of house had never mentioned the negative side effects.

"No one had mentioned, but I noticed last year. It's very easy to convince yourself that you should only sleep on borrowed time, not in real time. Everything seems like a waste if you can only experience an hour or a day once. Everything feels like a stream of missed opportunities." Hermione explained.

"Then you can see why I am hesitant to encourage you to use it for our purposes?" Snape asked.

"I understand, but I still feel that it would add to our cover if I were seen somewhere else during our meetings. We could also meet more often and accomplish more. I think I am very close to something at the moment. If I could just have a few more hours…" Hermione was interrupted before she could finish her sentence.

"That is the addiction speaking," Severus said speaking over his student.

"Fine. When would you like to meet." Hermione said with a tone that bordered on hostile.

"I have reviewed your course schedule and believe that Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays after dinner should be sufficient," Snape said looking down at her schedule which was obviously the paper he had been searching for on his desk.

"I would also have plenty of time on the weekends," Hermione suggested.

"No. You will need to do your homework and socialize with your friends. I will not be responsible for stealing your childhood." Severus said harshly.

"I am fairly certain that the war will do that for you. I would rather live through my childhood into adulthood, then die for being unprepared." Hermione said defiantly.

"I am not preparing you for war. I am helping you research." The potions master said.

"Rarely. Mostly you distract me with long conversations about the war. About the Light in the Dark…" Hermione retorted.

"I distract you? You are the one who is always asking questions!" Snape bellowed

"Because you always make me ask! You say half a thing and then you don't… You never finish. You never explain yourself. You just sit there and ...then I have to ask!" Hermione screeched.

"Your incessant need to know the answer to every question that pops in your head is not my problem, nor is it my doing." The potions master retorted.

Hermione spun on her heel and promptly left the room. She was a tightly wound ball of anger all the way up to Gryffindor tower where she threw herself onto an overstuffed armchair across a low table from Ron.

"Hermione?" Said Ron looking up from a book on how to age oneself.

"Don't ask," Hermione said into a fluffy pillow.

"What could have possibly gotten you this upset at the library?" Ron asked.

"I wasn't at the library. I told you it wasn't school work." Hermione ground out through gritted teeth.

"I figured when you said it wasn't school work that you meant it was about Harry," Ron said putting down his book and staring at his friend.

"I am starting an apprenticeship with Professor Snape. He is going to help me with my coursework to become a healer." Hermione said lowering the pillow and staring off into space as she practiced the lie for the first time. But it wasn't a lie. He had only agreed to do it if she agreed to actually become a healer. He complimented her. It was just hard to remember the compliment when he had been such a git.

"That's dreadful. Why would you want to go and do a thing like that?" Ron asked.

"If you haven't noticed, he is the only potions professor in the school. I don't really have a lot of options." Hermione said.

"You could wait until after school to start your apprenticeship with a different potions master." Ron pointed out.

"That would put me back years. If you haven't noticed, a war is about to break out. We're going to need as many healers as possible. And we're not going to have a lot of time for them to do apprenticeships after school. This may be my only shot at making a real contribution to the world. Saving lives." Hermione said. It was remarkable how easily the argument flowed out of her mouth without prior thought. It was easy because it was all true. She was not fabulously helpful in a crisis situation. She had high marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts but she wasn't a natural strategist like Ron or a fighter like Harry. She could help by saving lives.

~.~.~

Snape watched as the bushy haired know-it-all stormed out of his classroom. He wondered how many more times this would happen before the two of them realize that this would not work. She was too strong-willed. She was too defiant. She was too wrapped with a sense of right and wrong, black-and-white, light and dark. She had clung so easily the idea of the apprenticeship. It had been perfectly suited to her. Yet another way for her to academically best her peers. Of course, she agreed. Yet a small part of him and knew that he had only offered because he truly felt that she had potential. Not in potions, never in potions. He wasn't lying when he said that she lacked creativity and invention. Her mind didn't work like that. That was fine. There were plenty of professions where creativity and individuality were not necessary nor were they helpful.

Still, he was forced to spend a significant amount of his free time with the arrogant little Muggle-born. Even in his own mind, he detested using the term mud-blood. He had used it on occasion to keep up appearances, but his own lineage made the term problematic at best.

An indefinite amount of time to look forward to with a Gryffindor. What joy. She seemed to be ignorant or under concerned with how generous he was being by offering his time. He may be a professor at the school, but he was not a slave. The headmaster could ask him to help but he was by no means required to do so by law or magic. He was being benevolent and helpful. Why was it so hard for her to see that? Why couldn't she just be grateful and polite about it?

A distraction? He? HE was a distraction to HER? Because her research was going somewhere so quickly!? She had been researching owl post for the better part of three months and had gotten nowhere. Not that he was being particularly helpful he had to admit. He had even led her off course a few times in the guise of helpfulness.

And why shouldn't he? Harry Potter was alive and well and going to a school where no one knew who he was. He was safe. He was probably happier leaving Hogwarts to live a life of mediocrity, normalcy, quiet unnoticed bliss. Why should he be helping his friends steal him from that to put him back in the spotlight, back in the forefront of the lights only to be used as a weapon against his own people?

Not that they knew Harry was a dark wizard. Granger may be getting closer to understanding that he was behind familial blood wards… And he had had a conversation with her about the difference between light and dark blood and family lineage… She would find out soon enough… She didn't need his help getting there.

It probably didn't matter anyways. Harry would be traveling from behind blood wards to a school that was on plottable and virtually unreachable by Owl post. Snape had made sure of it. When Granger had gotten close a few weeks ago and her research he had spoken to a colleague at the school under the guise of considering sending one of his cousin's children to the school. He lacked an heir after all and would need to pass along what little fortune he had amassed to someone in his bloodline. It was not out of the ordinary for unmarried heads of houses to sponsor a distant relative as their heir. He had assured Snape that the boy's anonymity could remain intact if Snape chose to send a boy to school under a false name. Not even owl post would reach him as the castle's defenses prevented owls from bringing letters directly to students. Owls instead deposited letters at the post office and the house elves distributed them to the students once they were evaluated for threats or contraband.

No, her letters would not reach him at school or at home. The best shot she would have would be sending Hedwig at precisely the moment that he was traveling between home and school. Statistically unlikely.

Snape gathered up the papers on his desk into a neat pile and locked his classroom on his way out. Two days until they would meet again in this room to research a solution to the Harry Potter problem.

Two blissful days later, Severus and Hermione sent in that very classroom once again researching. Severus had brought a fresh stack of books for the girl to look over. none of them would be particularly helpful, but all of them would seem as though they were leaving her in a productive direction. "Sir, you gave me conflicting information?

"To what are you referring, Miss Granger?" The potions master said without looking up from his papers.

"The books you gave me this Summer. I've only just finished. The histories don't line up. They have differing opinions on everything. Some seem to hate the Dark as much as the Light. Others have taken wildly surrealistic perspectives on events and the writings that they reference. Why would you give me a collection of books like that?" She asked.

"To correct a misconception of yours. You seem to want to live in a world of black-and-white, right and wrong, fact and fiction. That wish is as childlike in its ignorance as is possible. The world is no more black-and-white than any singular individual within it. The world is filled with and innumerable hues and tints. There is no fact without interpretation, no history without flawed human memory, no right without personal ethic, no wrong without prejudice. Those books were all written by dark wizards. In a rational world of fact and fiction, they should have told the same story of a knowable and definable people. Instead, they told different stories from different perspectives with different interpretations and different meanings. Hues and tints." Severus explained.

"I am not as simple minded as you imagine." Hermione retorted.

"You see the insults in everything." The potions master said hanging his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. She really was exhausting.

"Not in everything, only in what comes out of your mouth," Hermione said calmly.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "See instead my attempt to educate."

She slammed her book closed. "You are infuriating."

Snape met her gaze. "And you are an insufferable know it all that knows nothing at all."

~.~.~

Over the next few days, Hermione found herself staring thoughtfully at her frustrating research partner. It was due to this unconscious act that she noticed that he would avoid the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. When they were forced to interact, it was as though Snape was attempting to stay out of sight of both the man's normal and magical eyes. Being outright rude to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professors was not outside of Snape's norm. He had hated all of their previous defense professors. He seemed less willing to be overtly hostile to Moody, though. Hermione wondered if he was scared of the former dark wizard catcher. Perhaps he felt the man's presence on the school grounds to be a threat.

The idea that the professor felt threatened in his own school and home was confusingly endearing to her. That was probably the most perplexing part of the whole observation.

Her first class with the new defense professor was intriguing. Rather than focusing on dark creatures as Professor Lupin had, the ex-dark wizard catcher focused on explaining the different categories of offensive spells. He lectured at legs on the differences between the classifications particularly in regards to light offensive spells and dark offensive spells. Hermione noted to herself that he did not mention the origination of the spells in dark culture versus the origination in light culture. He instead kept up what Hermione he had started referring to in her own mind as the mythos of good and evil.

Professor Snape might not be helping her with her owl post research but she was finding their conversations enlightening and was able to decode the inherent prejudice of the professor's lectures in a way that she had never noticed before. It wasn't just the new defense professor. It was everyone. She was disgusted to find even Professor McGonagall, a personal hero of hers, in a lesson in Transfiguration when Seamus Finnegan had asked if the Tri-Wizard champions would need transfiguration for the first task. Everyone had been trying to guess what the first task would be. There did not seem to be any clues. Ernie McMillan had speculated that whatever champion was chosen from Durham Strang academy would likely try to use the dark arts as an advantage as they taught them there. Professor McGonagall had explained that no dark magic was to be permitted on Hogwarts grounds regardless of whether or not it was taught at the student's homeschool. It was subtle, but Hermione had immediately thought to herself that that was highly prejudiced. She was starting to understand from the books that she had been reading that not all dark spells were offensive dueling spells as she had once assumed. Many were ordinary pieces of magic that would come more naturally to a dark wizard than a similar light spell might. Banning dark magic at Hogwarts made the light students have a natural advantage against the dark students who intern had a definite handicap.

All of the books that Professor Snape had given her over the summer spoke about the forced into marriage between light and dark families that allowed for a mixing of blood lines across Europe. It was only after this critical time in wizarding history that dark families offspring were capable of casting light spells and light wizards were capable of casting dark spells. Ever since this. That the dark wizards histories of you as traumatic, it has been the policy of the the dark families of Europe to orchestrate through arranged marriages the reconditioning of their bloodlines towards purely dark blood.

At the end of the first week of classes, Hermione found it. A spell that could be cast on a wizard's familiar that would allow it to track it's bonded wizard even through blood words. It could not deliver a message through the words as it could not enter, but it could wait. It could follow. He could find the opportunity to deliver it's entrusted package. She had been hesitant to send Hedwig out as some of the owls did not return. If and when Harry did come back, she did not want to be blamed for having been the cause of Harry's owl dying or being permanently lost. That weekend she tracked Hedwig's progress on her map and squealed with joy win on Sunday afternoon The map released a bright light. Hedwig had found Harry!

Hermione ran as fast as she could to the gargoyle that stood guard in front of the entrance to the headmaster's office. She gave the password but the gargoyle did not move. After trying a litany of alternative sweets a portrait behind her of an oversized man in a red doublet with curled blond hair said, "The first one was right, dear. The headmaster just isn't in his office. I think he has gone out on another of his little adventures."

"Do you know where he went? Do you know when he will be back?" Hermione asked in a rush.

"Do you think the great headmaster of Hogwarts tells the portraits where he is going and informs us when he will be back?" The portrait said with a snare.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair to get it out of her face. She had a frantic look in her eyes. "Right, of course. I'm sorry. Thank you." She babbled as she ran to the only other person she felt truly comfortable telling this to. When she reached the dungeons Professor Snape was sitting at his desk in his classroom marking papers. She knew the man had quarters of his own, however, he seemed to prefer sitting in his classroom when he marked. It made him particularly easy to find.

"Professor!" She nearly tripped over her own feet as she tumbled into the room. When she reached the desk she slammed the map down on it. "I found him."

The potions professor calmly picked up the map and examined it. He waved his wand over it a few times and mumbled under his breath. She had found him. From what he could tell, the owl had made contact with Harry on the northern coast of Denmark. "It appears as though you have."

"He is alive! He is out there! I found him! " Hermione squealed.

"How?" Severus asked simply.

Hermione explained the spell she had used on Hedwig.

"Then you may have only found him while he is in transit. This confirms that he is alive, but not his location. He is likely moving from one secure location to another and will be gone long before any search party is able to reach him. all we know for certain is that he is on the continent at the moment. We know that he is by the sea and that he is in transit. The question is where they are moving him to, Not where he is at the moment." Snape explained.

Hermione's face fell. He could be a right bastard. This was the first break they had had. Dumbledore had not been able to find him. Snape had not even seemed to be trying. Hermione had. She had found him. She had proof that he was alive and Snape was saying that not only was it not good enough, but it wasn't really telling them anything?! She stormed out of the classroom as she seemed to be doing more and more often. The man got under her skin. He was a right bastard.

On the evenings that she did not spend with Professor Snape, Hermione studied in the Gryffindor common room with Ron as much as possible. Ron had become even more withdrawn over the summer. He spent an inordinate amount of time with Ginny's diary. Seamus and Dean attempted to engage him in childish pranks now and then and he would smile and laugh but he didn't have the joy and bravado in his voice that he used to. He seemed always to be in a somber mood. Hermione couldn't blame him. He had lost his closest sibling one year and his best friend the next. He had voiced the concern over the summer that he was beginning to feel cursed. Everyone that got close to him seemed to be in mortal danger.

It was rubbish, of course, it wasn't that everyone close to him was in danger. It was that everyone close to Harry had been in danger. She often wondered what Harry was doing now. Was he trapped in a dungeon somewhere? Was he in chains and shackles? Or was he living a new life, brainwashed by his captors into complacency? She didn't want to think about the very real possibility that he was dead. It had been long enough that he very well might be. Her only real solace was that the owls on her tracking map we're going somewhere. If he had been dead they simply wouldn't have taken flight.

Even Hermione have noticed that classes were becoming more vigorous this year. The professors took every opportunity to remind them that their exams for ordinary wizard in the levels were only one year away. Hermione felt subtly ashamed of herself every time she used her time turn her around her neck to borrow a few more hours to study. She never used the time turner to double her time spent with Professor Snape, however. It felt wrong. She knew how very against the device he was.

Although Hermione's research had not progressed very much farther in the first month she was still encouraged to know that Harry was alive. He had been on the shores of Denmark once before. Perhaps he would be there again. She sent more and more owls with hundreds of copies of an identical letter all that same spot in the hopes that they would find him again. Harry had not replied to her first letter. Perhaps he couldn't, but if he made contact with the letter for the second time, at least she would know that he was still alive.

She was explaining her progress to Ron when they arrived in the entrance hall and found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the taller of them, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to Hermione:

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

-The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early —

"Brilliant!" said Hermione. "It's Potions last thing on Friday!" Ron gave her a quizzical look. It was not like her to be enthusiastic about a shortened class.

-Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.-

"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him. . . ."

"Cedric?" said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off.

"Diggory," said Hermione. "He must be entering the tournament."

"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" said Ron as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase.

"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," said Hermione. "I've heard he's a really good student — and he's a prefect." She spoke as though this settled the matter. In her opinion, he sounded like the perfect champion. Really she was glad that the school had something to distract the students, especially Ron, this year. He was so gloomy. He only seemed to lighten up when the topic of the tournament came up.

"You only like him because he's handsome," said Ron scathingly.

"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" said Hermione indignantly. It was then that Professor Snape walked by and gave her an amused look with a raised eyebrow. Hermione blushed beet red.

Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like "Lockhart!" Hermione spun on the spot and hit him lightly on the back of his head with a book. Stupid boys.

~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter. Let me know if you have any questions or suggestions. And, you know... reviews are nice ;). Before this story was on FF.net and it had just shy of 500 reviews. (I am re-writing it now, adding a lot more in) I know that I can't expect the same thing here, it's a different culture, but I really enjoy the back and forth. I like knowing what people think about the story and what issues they have with it. I really find it helpful when people tell me what they think will happen next or what they would love to see happen; it really gets me out of a slump. Anyways, thanks for reading.


	8. Melek vachvshch - King of the Dark / Dinner with the Khazars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a secret, School class schedules, dreams of dark eyes, new classes. Dinner with the Khazars.

Harry stared at the headmaster. King? He blinked several times. "I wasn't aware that wizards had kings…"

"There hasn't been a wizard and King in over 1000 years. They are extremely rare. They are not in the traditional sense... They neither gain their titles through wars of land acquisition nor through birthright. The title Melek is given to wizards that have been chosen to rule by magic itself. The first Melek was discovered by a seer and the prophecy was confirmed through a bloodstone much like the one we have here." Karkaroff explained. Seeing the fear in Harry's eyes he continued, "This doesn't have to change anything for now. We don't have to tell anyone. You can continue your education. Durmstrang will help you on your path to greatness. We can tailor a curriculum specifically to meet your needs."

He didn't understand. His brain wasn't working right at the moment… He didn't have to tell anyone... That was good. Harry didn't think he wanted anyone to know. He didn't know what it would mean to be a Wizard King, but he didn't think that any good would come of it. Karkaroff's words rang in his head -help you on your path to greatness- he had heard that before. The sorting hat. The sorting hat must have seen this somehow. Hadn't it said that Slytherin house would help him on his path to greatness? Harry felt like he was going to be sick. His stomach felt hollow. "Don't tell anyone."

Karkaroff nodded. "I will select your curriculum myself.." He shifted a few papers. "You will need a more intensive schedule than the average student." He was looking down at his desk in thought and then looked up to say, "How was your education in the village school?"

Harry was taken aback, village school… Right! His cover. He had forgotten. "It was very good. I had high marks in just about everything other than potions and history of magic." Harry shifted in his seat.

Karkaroff looked skeptical. Harry hoped that he hadn't blown his cover already. "Alright, let's assume that you are up to speed on your general education requirements. We can't let you slip in History of Magic. That will be extremely important to you in life. I will arrange for you to have extra tutoring... or possibly a more interesting approach to the subject would help..." He seemed to be mumbling to himself more than to Harry. He pulled out a fresh scroll and quill and began jotting down notes. "Let's see… You will need a thorough understanding of international law, advanced combat skills, excellent dueling skills, and understanding of magical artifacts, a high level of understanding of magical creature relations..." He began muttering to himself as he continued writing. "I should have a complete list for you in the morning. You can send an owl to purchase your supplies and books. I will attempt to make a reasonable enough schedule that you do not have to use a time turner, but it might be the only way. We shall see."

The headmaster looked up at a fairly overwhelmed 14-year-old. Taking pity on the boy he said, "I think that you have had more than enough excitement for one day. Why don't you have one of the older students show you around the school a bit? When you are ready, go down to the village, and a house elf will show you to your new home. You are rooming with your cousin. We like to keep families together here." He gave Harry a grandfatherly smile and sent him on his way.

Harry got up to leave with more questions in his head then he would have liked. When he passed through the great state round glass doors he found Gavriel and Draco still waiting for him.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry had expected a sorting ceremony. He had expected houses. He had expected dorms. He had been surprised at each of Durmstrang's alternative. Durmstrang was not Hogwarts. There had been no welcoming feast. Instead, everyone had gone to their respective houses in the village and begun to unpack. The first years, Harry, and Draco had been led to their new homes by house elves. Draco and Harry were sharing a house. It hadn't occurred to Harry until the house elf explained that their transfer was unexpected and thus the elves had built a new house just for them. They were in a section of the village that seemed to have a lot of other fourth years. Gavriel and Anika were in the same section. Gavriel's house mate was a short auburn haired boy named Surge. Anika was sharing a house with a girl with long strawberry blonde hair named Mara.

The houses were simple with a front living room, a small kitchen that was open to the living room, a bedroom with two beds and a simple bathroom. The houses had hewn stone floors and wooden walls with thatched roofs. The furniture and decorations were sparse but it seemed that students brought their own furnishings. He was surprised when one of the Malfoy house elves started popping in and out bringing everything from club chairs to paintings. Harry took the opportunity to ruthlessly make fun of Draco when a small portrait of Lady Malfoy was magically affixed to the living room wall. Harry's mirth drained from his face when a similar portrait of his own father was hung on the opposite wall.

Unlike Hogwarts where classes began the morning after the welcoming feast, at Durmstrang classes wouldn't start for another few days. The curriculum was thought to be extremely rigorous, so Harry and Draco didn't mind the idea of a few days to settle into their new surroundings. As newly assigned students they were to use this time to develop a personalized curriculum with their department masters. At Durmstrang the first three years were used for general education in core classes like Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, and Combat. The upper class-man, however, took classes that would help them in later life in their assigned fields. Gavial had explained that he was under the Temple Master and was studying to become a priest. Anika was under the Craft Master and was studying magic to help her in her future life as an inventor. Harry couldn't help but think of the Weasley twins when she explained her course load.

Harry had not told anyone about his assignment as Melek. He and the headmaster had agreed to tell the other students that he had been assigned a life in politics. It was a useful half-truth that would allow him to take the course load he needed without raising suspicion.

Draco was excited to learn magic that would be useful for his future career in law. "At Hogwarts, we never would have learned the important stuff like international law." He yammered. Harry had come to the realization that when Draco was nervous about not knowing what was going to happen next, he tended to talk a lot to make it sound like he was more confident than he was.

"What do you think your classes will be in?" Harry asked.

"Well... I'm supposed to go into Law... So I would assume classes on legal precedent, international law, and history." Draco mused.

"We didn't have any classes like that at Hogwarts," Harry said, stating the obvious.

"We will likely have a lot of classes together... Law and Politics work hand in hand." Draco continued, ignoring Harry.

"Do you think we will have combat training? We are in a war." Harry asked.

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "The Dark Lord runs the war and trains new recruits."

The Dark Lord...The Dark Lord doesn't know there is going to be a new Melek...Harry thought. "Surely students get some training no matter what assignment they have." Harry mused. "Do you think the Dark Lord has spies in the school to see if there are promising students to recruit?"

"Headmaster Karkaroff is a Death Eater. He named names under Veritaserum at the end of the last war, but my father says he is still loyal." Said Draco.

Harry was surprised. He knew this was a region of the world more controlled by the Dark, but having a death eater as a headmaster seemed a bit bold of a statement. Were death eaters not seen as terrorists at all here? "Do you think he would spy on his own students for the Dark Lord?" Harry asked getting a bit nervous.

"I don't see what reason he has not to. Unless he sees a loyalty to us to be more beneficial than loyalty to the Dark Lord." Draco answered sarcastically pointing out that he owed his students nothing.

But... He might see a loyalty to an emerging Melek as advantageous...Hmm... People will be loyal to me... But...It's not like anyone should have to choose me or him. I'm not going to start a war with the Dark Lord or something. Harry thought. A part of Harry wanted to tell Draco, but a much larger part wanted to have as close to a normal life for as long as possible.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Later that day Harry and Draco received owls with their course schedules. Harry opened his eagerly. There were two scrolls rolled up together. One was his schedule and the other was a note from the headmaster. Harry looked over towards Draco and saw that the blond was engrossed in his own letter. Harry began to read.

Harold Black,

I regret that I could not make your course load work without the use of a time turner. I am sorry, but you simply have too much to cover in too short a time. Even with this course load, I would urge you to elect to stay and do a few apprenticeships after graduation. You will need every drop of knowledge you can absorb in your coming life. I hope you take your studies seriously. Many of these courses will be traditional classroom courses, however, several have been created for you as self-directed studies with an assigned professor or apprentices to mentor you through the work. If after the first semester you feel your course load needs adjustment please seek out my council and we will reassess.

Igor Karkaroff

Headmaster, Durmstrang Academy

A time tuner? The headmaster had mentioned something like that before, but Harry had forgotten to ask what it was. 'What ever it is I bet Hermione had one last year with her crazy schedule.' Harry opened the second scroll.

Monday/Wednesdays

8:00AM - 8:45 AM Combat Training

9:00AM - 11:00 AM History of Magic

9:00AM - 11:00 AM Dark Creature History

9:00AM - 11:00 AM International Magical Relations

1:00PM - 3:00 PM Administrative Law

3:30PM - 5:30 PM International Law

5:45PM - 6:30 PM Legal Writing: Legislation

Tuesday / Thursday

8:00 AM - 8:45 AM Dueling Practice

9:00 AM - 11:00 AM Charms: Spell Creation

9:00 AM - 11:00 AM Potions: Poisons and Antidotes

9:00 AM - 11:00 AM Human Transfiguration

1:00 AM - 4:00 PM Independent Study: Military Strategy: A History of Warfare

5:45 PM - 6:30 PW Theology: Ethics and Leadership

Friday

8:00 AM - 10:00 AM Combat Dueling

1:00 PM - 4:00 PM Independent Study: Occlumency and Legilimency

The schedule was obviously impossible. It had him in three classes simultaneously on some days. Maybe the time turner thing-y was a way to be in two or three places at once? That had to be it. There was no other way. It looked like a grueling scheduled, and Harry wondered how he would manage. He would have to study more than Hermione to make this work. At least he would have the weekends. Then Harry remembered that we had training with the Dark Lord over the weekends. Harry was awoken from his thoughts by Draco snatching his schedule from his hands. After a few minutes looking it over he said, "Well that's a bit unexpected. Are you going to drop a few of these classes to make it work?"

Harry explained, "The professor is obtaining a time turner for me. I'm not exactly sure what that is, but apparently, it will allow me to take all of these classes." Harry walked over to the kitchen and started searching the cupboards for something to eat.

Draco looked impressed. "Time turners are extremely rare magical artifacts." He sat down in an armchair. "They allow the user to travel back in time a matter of hours."

"If they are so useful why are they so rare?" Harry asked wondering why everyone wouldn't want one. He opened the third cupboard, the first two had been glasses and plates, this one was filled with fruits and vegetables. Harry pulled out an apple and took a bite.

"The ministries have the vast majority of them and strictly control their usage. They can be quite dangerous and after prolonged usage causes a lot of mental stress." Draco explained. Draco was comparing their respective schedules looking for shared classes.

"I'm glad I won't be using it too much then, only four mornings a week," Harry said sarcastically, walking over to sit on the couch.

"Well, you do have a very interesting schedule and it looks like we will have more classes together than I had expected. From my perspective at least we will have almost all day together on Mondays and Wednesdays, Dueling, and Potions on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Combat Dueling on Fridays." Draco said kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and lighting the fire with his wand.

"What classes do you have that I don't," Harry asked getting curious. Durmstrang had vastly more classes than Hogwarts it seemed. That seemed odd to Harry, the castle seemed so much smaller than Hogwarts. But, Hogwarts always had an excess of unused classrooms. Did Hogwarts use to teach more subjects? If not, why was the castle so big?

"A few more law classes, political etiquette, and an extra potions class," Draco answered lazily. He pointed his wand at the cupboards and summoned an apple of his own.

They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for school. They sent owls out for their required readings, supplies and textbooks. They unpacked their trunks into the newly delivered furniture. Draco even took the time to teach Harry how to fire-call his father. Harry could have used his mirror, but he liked learning more about how things worked in the Wizarding world. He was tired of feeling like everyone knew so much more than he did about how basic things in this world functioned. Maybe he could talk to the headmaster about extra lessons in how-to-be-a-wizard. Harry chuckled to himself. No such luck with his cover has having grown up in a Wizarding orphanage.

In the evening they met up with Gavriel, Anika, Surge and Mara and played exploding snap long into the night.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry's body tossed and turned in his bed. The sheets gathered, tangled around his legs. He was having the dream again. He could see the dark eyes and pale skin. There was no pain in this dream. Instead, his body was vibrating softly. He felt his skin tighten against his heaving chest, he was short of breath.

Suddenly the other figure was very close to him and Harry gave a small moan. He felt a heightened sensitivity in his skin as though a cool breeze was enveloping him, he felt hands touching every part of his body, fingers running through his hair. He felt the heat rise inside of him. Dark eyes were watching him, taking in every inch of his form. Parseltongue words hissed into his ear, but Harry couldn't make them out. Harry could feel a light tongue trailing his jaw, along his neck to his chest. He arched his back in need, searching for contact. He felt long fingers touching him, moving lower and lower down his hips. He let out a louder moan.

Harry woke up dazed, covered in sweat. What the bloody hell?!

In another bed, back in England, Tom Riddle awoke at that very same moment. He had been having the most ravishing dream, and the only detail he could remember were striking green eyes.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The next morning they had combat training with Professor Ashkelon. Combat training was held in the arena. The class size was massive, at least one hundred students. Professor Ashkelon divided them first by gender, sending the girls to the west end of the arena and the boys to the east. Next, they were asked to group themselves into sets of five. Then a short, broad-shouldered boy in his late teens came through and passed out staffs. Ashkelon pointed his wand at his own throat and amplified his voice. "Welcome to combat training. I'm Professor Ashkelon. For those of you that are new to this course be warned, this is not a class to be taken lightly. Magical Combat comes in many forms. We will start this year with Kravnufa a form that uses poisoned knives and focuses on self-defense at any cost. There is no sense of honor, no rules, no limits. This is a form focused on keeping you alive and killing your opponent. Your homework this week will be to master the potion in your textbooks from chapter one. Bring me a vial on Friday for grading. Now, Irkoff will demonstrate the key techniques with me today."

The broad-shouldered boy from before stepped forward and nodded to the professor. The professor nodded back. The boy charged full force. At the last second, he sprung into the air. He was at least three feet above the professor's head, poised to come down full force on the professor with a kick to the chest when a blue flame erupted around his descending foot. The attacking boy was unharmed by the flames but Harry had no doubt they would be lethal upon impact. Just as Irkoff was about to make contact, the professor disappeared and reappeared behind the falling student. When Irkoff landed, Ashkelon had one dagger positioned at his back and another just under his Adam's apple. The whole display was thrilling to watch and Harry's chest heaved in excitement.

From beside him, Harry heard Draco whisper, "Wicked." His sentiments were obviously shared by the other students or at least the younger years. The older students seemed less impressed, likely having seen displays like this often in their combat training. Durmstrang was known for their martial magic after all.

They spend the rest of the class practicing the flying kick that Irkoff had demonstrated. It was a complicated combination of a levitation charm, a shield charm, and a flame spell. The levitation charm alone was not enough, though. The attack required mastery of the physical movements first or the attacker would simply be falling down on top of his opponent. They practiced jumping from conjured rocks to get the body positions right. Professor Ashkelon went from group to group explaining, correcting and demonstrating as he saw fit to address each group's difficulties. Harry noticed that the older students would often add in other attacks and counter attacks as they practice while the youngest students struggled with the basic spell work and often asked for help from the older students or Irkoff. By the time the period was over, Harry and Draco were exhausted.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry spent the rest of the morning using the time turner to accommodate his triple booked schedule. He found his History of Magic class to be far more enjoyable than he had anticipated. At Hogwarts Professor Bin's teaching style left a lot to be desired. Professor Galen, however, was bright and bubbly. His teaching style was interactive. He constantly asked his students questions, not just to gage what they had memorized, but also for their analysis of the events they discussed.

"Let's see, I think I'll pick on the new kid, if you don't mind. Mr. Black, what do you think we should draw from the events of the Goblin war of 1256?" Professor Galen asked.

Harry looked up from his book where he had been reading ahead. Galen liked to read excerpts from the textbook and then comment on it and ask questions to the class before moving on. Harry didn't understand exactly what Galen was looking for. The lesson had been about a premodern war between the Goblin King and the Wizarding Oligarchy over a couple hundred acres of unplottable land. What exactly was he supposed to 'draw' from that? "I'm sorry sir, what do you mean?"

"What connections can you draw between the plight of the Goblins and our modern struggles." Galen rephrased.

"...Well...the Slavic Goblins were fighting against the region's Wizengamot for control of their ancestral landholdings, but also for the right to live in peace outside of wizard control and regulation..." Harry said stalling for time as his mind made several rapid comparisons looking for a good fit. When he landed on the answer he felt daft for missing something so obvious. "Today Dark Wizards are fighting for the right to practice their magic and their traditions without the control and regulation of Light controlled Wizengamots."

Galen's eyes lit up, obviously pleased Harry had found the answer he had been looking for. "But the Goblins had a king, a recognized leader, and government, surely their war has more legitimacy as it involved two governments facing off, head to head?" Galen asked the class.

A blond girl in the back shot up her hand. Harry thought she looked like a Malfoy. Galen nodded at her to speak, "Wouldn't the Dark Lord and the Knights of Walprus serve as a government in a war? Just because their rule isn't recognized by the Light, doesn't mean it's not legitimate." She posed.

"True, but the Dark has had a true Monarchical government in the past, Dark Lords are often just seen as war lords by both sides. A necessary tool in the absence of true leadership." At that, the bell rang and it was time for lunch and for Harry, it was time for him to use the time turner to attend Dark Creature History.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry had expected Dark Creature History to be like a more boring Care of Magical Creatures. Instead, it had been a fascinating class taught by a Vampire, Professor Rackul. Rackul explained that the class would be broken into six-week segments. Each segment was devoted to the study of a different magical creature or race. The first class of each segment would be thought by a representative of the culture they were to study. The second and third week they would learn this history of the people. The fourth and fifth week they would study the religious stance and cultural traditions. The sixth week they would travel to the native communities. Rackul explained that the first segment of the course would be spent learning about Vampires and thus he would be teaching the first class himself. He opened the floor up to questions.

A mousy girl with big round glasses, not unlike Harry's before Sirius had transfigured him new ones over the Summer, raised her hand nervously, "Sir, I mean no disrespect, but how do you get blood while you are here at school?"

Rackul gifted her a toothy grin, "Straight to the point, I like that. My mate lives with me and provides me with all that I need."

Another student, a boy with black hair and a thick Greek accent raised his hand and after reviving a nod from the professor, asked, "Is your mate... Human?" He asked unsure of himself.

"My mate is a Witch. She is not turned, nor was she born a vampire as I was." Rackul responded, no one raised their hand to ask another question. He looked at the room of nervous faces and sighed as though this happened every year. "I am a professor, every year this class starts the same way, the class is nervous and afraid to ask questions that they think might offend me. You can not offend me. I have lived for far too long, I have heard and answered every question you will think of. Please ask me anything. I won't be offended."

"How old are you?" A girl with a thick Dutch accent asked.

Rackul clapped his hands together, "I am nine hundred years old."

"How long do Vampires live?" Asked a boy with glasses at the front.

"My father is the oldest of our Clan, he is two thousand, three undated and fifty-six years old. If a Vampire is not killed by outside forces it is thought that he might never die. However, war or assassination typically ends a Vampire's life before they reach one thousand." Rackul explained.

"You said your mate was a witch, will you stay with her even when she ages and you do not?" Asked the Greek boy from before.

Rackul bounced on his feet, rocking from heel to toes, the pace of the questions was picking up and he liked this game. "She receives my blood regularly and will age extremely slowly as long as she does. Wizards can live up to 150 years. With my blood, she may live up to 500 years as my last lover did."

"You said my last lover, not mate. Why?" Harry asked a bit puzzled.

Rackul tossed him a candy from a bowl on his desk, "Good catch. Vampires only get one mate. I did not believe that I would ever find mine after centuries of looking. I took a lover. She was with me until she died in battle in the last Wizarding War. I found my mate shortly after. We did not bond, however, until just recently."

"Why did you wait before bonding? Weren't you excited to find your mate?" Asked the Dutch girl from earlier.

Rackul tossed her a candy as well. Harry wondered what the criteria was for earning candy. "I was of course, but my mate was too young. She was only 11 years old when I met her. I kept my distance of course until she was of age and sure of who she was emotionally. I have no interest in children." The professor explained.

"How old is she now? Did you meet here? When do you tell her she was your mate?" Asked a mousy haired girl in bug-eyed glasses.

"That is three questions, but I will answer all of them." He smiled. "My darling mate is now 20 years old. Yes, we met here at Durmstrang. Though, I never allowed her into my class. She is still quite frustrated with me about that. I believe she found out on her own when she was 16 and my thoughts began to pop into her head." He chuckled at the memory.

"She could hear your thoughts?" Harry asked.

Harry was rewarded with candy for his question. "Vampires recognize their mates in three ways. Their sent, their visible aura, and after prolonged exposure a shared mental connection. When I first met my mate. I recognized her immediately. Vampires do not typically see auras, hers was a lovely light blue. I was able to avoid her in the halls the first few years by walking the other direction whenever I caught her scent. I was unable to hide any longer after years of living in close proximity, our mental connection began to grow when she was in her fifth year. By the time she turned 16 the next year, she had pieced enough together from my invading thoughts."

"Did she confront you?" Asked the Dutch witch.

Rackul smiled widely as if replaying one of his favorite memories. "She did. She was rather insistent, but she respected my wishes and we did not begin our courtship until she had finished school and completed her internship."

"Where does she live?" Harry asked.

Harry didn't receive candy, perhaps the system was arbitrary? "We have a small house built into the side on the mountain adjoining a cave entrance. Contrary to Muggle fiction, Vampires do not live in castles high on the tops of mountains, but rather in underground cities built into natural cave formations." The professor answered.

"What did your mate get her apprenticeship in?" The Greek boy asked.

"She has two that she did here simultaneously: one in Martial Magic and the other in the History of Warfare. As a child of war, she thought it prudent to immersed herself in the study of it as to better understand how to shape and mold the next war, towards the protection of her people and mine." Rackul answered as if reciting from memory an exact quote.

"Can you have children?" A shy looking round boy asked. He reminded Harry of Neville when he was younger.

The boy received two candies for his question. "Yes, I am a born vampire, the product of two mated vampires. When my mate and I have children, they will be vampires. Vampire blood is more dominant than dark wizard blood."

"You never mentioned her name, who is she? Is she a teacher here?" Asked the Dutch girl who had only received one candy for her many questions.

"No, she's not a teacher here. She is, however, studying for her masters in Modern Military Strategy. She is mentoring a student in this very class this year. Young Mr. Black, I understand you and my mate will become quite close. I apologize before hand for her strictness. She was not blessed with my carefree charm" He smiled and winked at Harry.

Harry gulped. He didn't know if he would like the idea of becoming very close to a vampire's mate. It seemed like a dangerous relationship even if they were only studying.

"Now, I will give a Galleon to anyone who can ask a question not related to my love life." The class chuckled.

Harry raised his hand, "What is the political structure...or, I guess...social structure...inside a vampire... clan?"

Harry received three candies for his much-welcomed question, but no Galleon, "Excellent question young Lord Black, my father is the Rege, the king of our clan. His sired brothers are the next social ring down from him. They are like your wizard-lords. Below them are their sired brothers, and so on. A vampire can move within the levels of our society based on intelligence, magical power, and usefulness, however, those traits tend to increase with age and follow our social structure. Unlike wizards and muggles, our elders do not physically age or become mentally decrepit. Thus, our elders are truly the most intelligent, most powerful, and most useful members of our society."

"But...you were born and not sired. Where do you fit in the social hierarchy?" The Greek boy asked.

He was tossed a candy for his question. "Born vampires are granted the social level or cast of their parents or one below as in my case. Younger vampires, however, often do well by remaining in a position where they are observing a situation but not directly involved in it until they are an intellectual match with others of their social level. For example, if the average age in a vampire's social ring is 1000, he may choose to wait to interact politically until he reaches 800 or so."

"Is that why you teach? Are you waiting until you are old enough to interact politically with your social class?" Harry asked.

"Very clever, yes. I am still considered quite young in my circles. I will not begin interacting politically until I am at least 1500. There are very few in my social cast. Those that there are, are extremely intelligent and powerful. I would not dame to offer my ignorance as a valid considerable opinion yet. In our society, it is considered ill-advised to comment on a situation unless you have been through it before enough times to know the different paths that history might take. For example, in our current situation, I would not be able to council on... Let's say, blood rationing... because I have only been through two wars were Vampiric troops were used behind anti-apparition walls. I would, however, be able to council on Light propaganda in print media as I have been alive for the whole history of the modern newspaper." Rackul explained.

"By that logic wouldn't there always be topics you couldn't council on?" The shy boy asked quietly.

"Ah, but remember, Vampires do die eventually in battle. It is quite possible that I will one day be the eldest of my cast."

"It seems like a life of waiting," Harry observed.

"Yes, young Lord Black. A vampire's life is one of great patients. We are not drawn to the rash decisions that other races are plagued with in their comparatively brief lifespan."

The conversation turned to the history of Vampires and misconceptions in Wizard lore. When the bell rang Harry felt he understood a great deal more than he had when the class had started. He realized that a class like this was achieving what Muggle studies had failed to teach. A greater understanding of the different culture on a personal level towards the ultimate goal of creating understanding and tolerance.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

International Magical Relations was taught by an Asian wizard with a heavy Japanese accent and a strict structural style. The class consisted primarily of line by line explanation of various treaties and accords between governments and a study of the history and practices of the International Confederation of Wizards. Harry found the subject exceedingly boring. Though he had to admit to himself, it may very well just have been the teacher he found boring. Or, maybe it was the way the class was being taught. Regardless, Harry had a hard time not falling asleep.

Durmstrang differed from Hogwarts greatly, there had been no grand welcoming feast the first night. There was, however, a special lunch held in the grand hall on the first day. Round wooden tables seating twelve each were scattered throughout the room. The meal was appetizing, but not overly bountiful or elaborate. There was a selection of bread, cheeses, fish, and vegetables. Harry figured that he would always miss the wonderful and never-ending food at Hogwarts. Harry was limiting his lack of pudding when he heard a deep bell chime, the headmaster had an announcement. Harry saw the eyes of the other students grow wide, he saw the cheer with glee and jump up in excitement. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was being reinstated. Thirty students were being selected to represent Durmstrang at Hogwarts. Harry was worried for a moment until the headmaster explained that the school had decided to take the students with the highest marks from the sixth and seventh years. The room filled with frowns of disappointment from the younger students and looks of mild shame from the older students who knew their marks would not be high enough to make the cut. The headmaster explained that the delegation would be taking a ship very much like the one they used to travel to school to get to Hogwarts where the tournament was to be held. He would be coming back to Durmstrang, however, on a regular basis to oversee the school.

Draco seemed to resent Harry a little less after the announcement. If he couldn't have participated anyways, then it couldn't be Harry's fault. Exiting the Grand Hall Harry lost Draco in the crowd. Harry realized that he and Draco had been so wrapped up in the shared excitement that Harry had forgotten to ask Draco how his morning had gone. This was a whole new experience for him as well after all. Harry was attempting to make a concerted effort to like the Malfoy heir. He may be a ponce, but he was now Harry's friend by default, and he felt he should make an effort to see past Draco's arrogance.

Harry entered his second-period class and instantly spotted Draco sitting at a table at the front and went to join him. "How was your first class?" Harry asked.

"Fascinating, they really teach to a higher standard here. My Finance class had a Goblin professor that has worked in 12 different ministries and helped to write the legislation to open the first Gringotts Bank in the Americas." Draco raved. Draco for his part had always wanted to be friends with Harry, though he would never admit it. This new situation gave him an excellent excuse to start over. He was honestly trying to get along with his green-eyed companion, but he was having a difficult time getting past Harry's... Light-ness.

Administrative Law class and International Law class were held back to back in the same room, with the same teacher. In between classes only a handful of students got up and left and were replaced with others. The majority of the class remained for both the professor walked through the door the class quieted down. The young professor appeared to be in his late twenties and looked to Harry like a younger version of Lord Malfoy. Professor Falk was very tall with long blond hair and icy blue eyes. The few girls that took the courses swooned at him. Harry had to admit he was an attractive man. Harry found the subject matter incredibly dull but somehow the young charismatic blonde professor made the class enthralling. After explaining the individual laws in detail he spoke passionately about their practice in modern court systems. He spoke about the law's ability to protect those that need protecting, to defend those who have no natural defenses, and to uphold moral and ancient rights. Harry discovered that most of the body of law that governs the wizarding world was ancient and unchangeable. It seemed there was a body of ancient blood codes that were tied into the very DNA of the modern day wizard, though the professor didn't use the muggle term. It was due to laws like this that wizard oaths were binding, marriage bondings were permeant, and international treaties were always obeyed. Once entered into, some arrangements could not be broken. It was the law of magic.

Falk explained that the law was broken into two categories, Mitzvols, laws of magic, Wavrinniks the laws of wizards. Where Wavrinniks were made every day by various governments, Mitzvols required a level of Magic that hadn't been seen in centuries. The last Mitzvol was made by the last Wizarding King a little over 1000 years ago. It is believed that Mitzvols are the result of Magic itself speaking through a wizard. When Harry heard the professor speak about the role of the ancient Kings in the creation of Mitzvolic Law, Harry became nervous and self-conscious. He felt, somehow, Falk must know. Harry's nervous feeling lasted for the rest of the day all the way through his evening Legal Writing class.

Harry and Draco stumbled back to their house exhausted. Draco stayed up to write the outlines for the essays he was assigned, but Harry was asleep as soon as he sat down on the couch. The next morning Harry overslept, and was half way dressed in a frantic hurry before he remembered his time turner. He turned it three times to give himself time to look over his long list of assignments before heading to Dueling class. Harry's first week felt at once to speed along in a rush of activity and to drag on forever. When his last class let out on Friday all he wanted to do was sleep for two days straight. Instead, he turned his time turner four times to give himself time for a nap and then began on his mountain of homework. Draco turned out to be extremely helpful. When he came home at the end of his last class he looked over Harry's essays and gave him notes. Harry expected their previous adversarial relationship to resurface after a few days, but it seemed that in a school where no one knew them, Draco clung to Harry as the only familiar face in a crowd of strangers. It was nice to have a friend in his new life. Having Draco was a little bit like having Ron and Hermione back. Draco could be funny like Ron, but it was a dryer hummer. He was easily as much of a bookworm as Hermione, but it came out of a sense of ambition rather than Hermione's need for approval. Harry fell asleep Friday night having completely forgotten his 'training' in the morning.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lucius Malfoy burst through the solid mahogany door into Black's office. "Come with me Black. We-"

"Good afternoon, Lord Malfoy," Sirius said calmly not looking up from his paperwork. The Black estates had been left to the management of the Gringotts Goblins while he was in Azkaban. The goblins were brilliant investors, but they lacked insight into Wizarding affairs, and more importantly they lacked the human capacity to gamble, a quality Sirius had in spades.

Lucius was derailed. Black was at a desk? Working? This was not the cavalier young man of the last war. "We are needed. Yaxley and Dolohov have a plan to-"

"Yaxley and Dolohov can wait." Sirius continued to work, looking over reports of a promising new wand maker out of St. Petersburg. Sirius was considering investing in the young Dark wizard. Berkowitz had sent him, or rather his Goblin representative, a sample wand. It was made of the wood from a Dahurian Larch, eleven inches long, with a thestral blood and Golem clay core. The young wizard obviously had a fascination with unusual core combinations. The typical Ollivander wand was a single core. Dual core wands were known to be more powerful but also more volatile. Using dark creature elements in a region more heavily populated with Dark wizards was smart. He would like to meet this wand maker. He could be useful to the cause. For now, he would serve as a worthy investment. Sirius finished the letter he had been writing to his investment manager at Gringotts. He looked up from his paperwork to find a rather grumpy looking Lord Malfoy. "There, that wasn't so bad. It only took a few minutes. Now, what is this about Yaxley and Dolohov?"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It turned out that Yaxley and Dolohov were hosting a dinner party to try to win the favor of a clan of German Royal Elves, the Khazar. The clan had been neutral in the past several wars. They were uniquely unaligned by blood. Their magic was entirely separate from that of the Light and Dark. They tended to keep out of the affairs of wizards, but their new chief was married to a Dark witch. She was not from a noble family. She was simply a village girl that the chief had fallen in love with when he was a boy. Despite her lack of nobility, the girl's family was extremely devout. They had been in the priesthood for generations serving not only their village but several in the region. The chief in his love for her had begun to study the ancient beliefs of dark wizards. He grew fascinated with the culture and beliefs system. His new bride turned out to be a relative of Dolohov's estate manager. When the man mentioned his second cousin's recent marriage, in a meeting with Dolohov to define the scope of the work to be done renovating his home in Naples, Dolohov recognized the opportunity for the Dark. He inquired after the girl, claiming that he wished to congratulate her on her recent marriage. After some lengthy correspondence, he had arranged a dinner to introduce the chief to the Dark Lord and hopefully gain a powerful alliance.

Presently Sirius and Lucius were getting ready for the dinner. They had just come from a rescue mission for the Dark Lord. A knight had been captured by the Dutch authorities while he was attempting to eavesdrop on a conversation regarding potentially devastating legislation. Lucius and Sirius had gone in under polyjuice potion and broken him out of his holding cell. The mission had taken longer than they had anticipated. Now they were hurriedly changing into their dress robes.

"Quiz me." Demanded Sirius

"I don't think I will." Replied an exasperated Lucius.

"Quiz me," Sirius repeated.

"You really are a very charming conversationalist, Lord Black. You won't have any issues." Lucius argued.

"Quiz me."

"Who are you sitting next to?"

"Price Elvrin of the clan Pershnia, second son to Evret, son of Chief Marsuse." Sirius recited as if reading from an invisible parchment suspended before his eyes.

"Perfect, if he becomes confused as to who he is, you will be of great help to him," Lucius said tossing his hair over his shoulder as he laced his dress boots.

Sirius let out a snort, "He also loves Quidditch and once had a fight in a muggle bar that led to a death that the family tries to hide."

"Then you can speak about sport, but I doubt your juicy gossip will be welcome dinner conversation." Lucius drawled walking up to the fireplace and picking up the floo powder and tossing a handful into the flames. The fire flashed bright green and the elegant blond stepped gracefully through the curtain of fire.

Stepping out onto the raised hearth on the other side he was greeted by Amycus Carrow. "Lucius, Ravkic just fire called before you came through."

"And?"

"He said some of the elves that RSVP'd for the dinner are not going to show up," Amycus said hurriedly trying to keep up with Malfoy's long strides as they walked towards the dinning room.

Lucius sighed, "We knew that might happen."

"Well, it happened. Do you think we should..."

"What cancel?"

"Well... Yeah"

"The Dark Lord thinks he is meeting with a new potential ally tonight. One we never could have hoped to have swayed in the last war. A love convert." Lucius explained.

"We are not putting it off?" Amycus asked to confirm.

"We are Not putting it off," Lucius said with some finality.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Tom was standing on the balcony looking out over Dolohov's gardens. Dolohov's wife was one of those women that never quite abandoned the girlishness that they had adopted by the age of six. Instead of the more common hedge mazes or rose gardens that his followers tended to favor, this garden was a wild mess of flowers. Butterfly bushes lined the space. The garden seemed to be constructed around the idea of luring as many animals as possible. Tom could count at least six rabbits in the hydrangea. He had never been particularly effeminate. Something about having grown up in the austerity of war made seeing this sort of display turn his stomach.

Severus approached him from behind presumably to escort him to the dining room. "Was there a reason given why they aren't coming?"

Severus began to walk back towards the doors leading inside. Pulling open the glass door he said: "They informed us late this afternoon that there was pressing business that the clan had to see to."

"What do you think that means?" Tom said with a raised eyebrow.

"I think it means exactly what you think it means. They're not wild about us, sir." Severus said walking towards the dining room.

"Are there enough? Do they have the votes to depose?" Tom asked.

"It is unlikely. The chief is extremely popular among the younger generations. His marriage is seen as bridging their culture into the wider magical world. The younger elves see it as a chance for freedom to follow his example in intermarriage...and leave the clan."

"And there lies our problem with the elders." Tom stopped and turned to face Snape. "I agree with them. We have struggled for centuries to purify our blood and magic, to reverse the effects of the blood wars. Now for an alliance, I am to ignore that we are all but giving our blessing for an intermarriage? An inter-species marriage at that! It's one thing when one of our youths rebels and goes and marries a Vampire or Werewolves. It's understandable, their mates would die. So, we put up with it. It's distasteful, but at least Dark magic is in their blood as well. This is something else entirely. These Royal Elves are of a completely different kind of magic. They marry wizards so rarely that we don't know how it will affect the offspring. Allowing and even encouraging such a union is extremely dangerous."

"It's a big price to pay just for an alliance." Severus agreed, wondering if in this version of the Dark Lord knew his own dirty little familial secret.

"There are going to be a lot high of prices to pay, I fear," Tom replied.

"My Lord?" Severus asked.

"This war will require us to make more compromises than I think I might be able to swallow." Tom elaborated.

They continued down the hall in silence. As they reached the doors Severus turned to Tom. "They know that you want the alliance. Why would the elders pull out at the last minute?"

Tom walked through the door as Severus held it open for him. "So that I rethink wanting the alliance." He threw over his shoulder.

As they walked through the doors they caught the eye of Sirius. The boisterous Lord Black nudged Lucius alerting him to the entrance of the Dark Lord. They walked briskly over to them. "Several, of the older elves have withdrawn from the dinner. Th-"

"We know," Severus said cutting him off.

"They think the-"

"We know."

"It's not, it's a show of great acceptance and counteracts the view that we are blood purists out of hate and prejudice. It will be good for counteracting the image the Light has constructed for us over the last decade and a half." Sirius argued.

"And if they vote to depose the chief it's not a very public display of anything." Severus rebutted.

"They don't have the votes to depose" Lucius chimed in.

"According to you." Said Sirius.

"Yes, according to the Headman, the Priest, the Bride, and myself."

"Sometimes I wonder why I am even here," Tom said in a deadpan and raising an eyebrow. The three senior death eaters went silent. "Let's go make a mistake..." He turned to look directly at Severus. "We need the bodies." He turned to face Sirius. "And the image." Then finally to Lucius. "And the money."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dinner was held in a long formal dining room. Not nearly as grand as that of Malfoy Manor or the Malfoy château in France, but an appropriate size for the gathering of roughly 30 wizards and elves. The room was a glittering display of wealth. The walls were gold leafed creating a mirror-like effect that allowed the candlelight to amplify around the room. The centerpieces were two-foot tall silver vases with long stem white roses. Severus wondered if the guest of honor, a simple village girl of a family with an unremarkable income, would feel comfortable with a such a show of opulence.

Dinner had begun almost half an hour ago. The Dark Lord had asked how the young couple had met.

"It was several years ago that I had my dream. I believe it to be a prophetic dream. I dreamt that magic itself was pleased in my actions, but not in my heart. I saw an image of a beautiful woman." That chief turned and said the next sentence directly gazing into the eyes of his young bride. "I saw dark curls, beautiful blue eyes and sun-kissed skin." They shared a chaste kiss. It was obvious they were deeply infatuated with one another and unashamed of their display of affection. "When I saw Magd in the village, she was dancing in the street with some of her friends. It was a festival day. She had the most beautiful silk robes on. I asked her for a dance, we danced all day, and then talked until morning. The next day I asked her father for her hand in marriage."

There was the requisite round of congratulatory statements and niceties that followed. Then Lucius asked the question that they had all been waiting for. "Did not you find the... cultural difference to be a barrier in your courtship. The Dunkles are quite observant of the old ways." It was an innocent enough question that nevertheless brought the conversation around to the matter at hand. Could the cultural and religious gap be breached to bring these two peoples together?

"At first...But I fell in love with the whole of the woman. Not just her beauty and her mind, but her beliefs and her people." The Chief replied placing his hand on top of his brides and giving her a warm smile.

"And have you adopted her beliefs?" The Dark Lord asked getting straight to the point.

"I am learning. Magd says it takes a lifetime to learn the old ways." The Chief replied. "May I ask, are you a religious man Lord Malfoy?"

"I practice the old ways as is befitting of my blood." Lord Malfoy replied. Lucius thought for a moment before following with, "let me explain this way...If you were told that the king of India was an excellent man, commanding admiration, and deserving his high reputation, one whose actions were reflected in the justice which rules his country and the virtuous ways of his subjects, would this cause you to revere him?"

The Chief smiled, "How could this bind me, when I am not sure if the justice of the Indian people is natural, and not dependent on their king, or due to the king or both?"

Lucius smiled charmingly and continued, "What if his messenger came to you bringing presents which you knew to be only procurable in India, and in the royal palace, accompanied by a letter in which it is distinctly stated from whom it comes, and to which are added potions to cure your diseases, to preserve your health, poisons for your enemies, and other charmed objects to fight and kill them without battle, would this make you loyal to him?"

The Chief looked puzzled as if he sensed a trap in the blond's words. "Certainly. For this would remove my former doubt that the Indians have a king. I should also acknowledge that a proof of his power and dominion has reached me."

Lucius looked satisfied, having gotten the answer he was after, "How would you then if asked, describe him?"

The Chief looked to his young wife for guidance, but received only a soft encouraging smile. "In terms about which I am quite clear, and to these, I could add others which were at first rather doubtful, but are no longer so."

Lucius smiled widely his eyes twinkling in the candle light, "In this way, I answered your first question. In the same strain spoke Dedi to Pharaoh, when he told him: 'The Magic of the Dark sent me to you,' For Dedi was well known to the nations, who also knew that the Dark was in contact with the patriarchs and prophets, cared for them, and performed miracles for them. He did not say: 'The Magic of heaven and earth,' nor 'my Magic and thine sent me.' In the same way Magic spoke to the ancient prophets in their visions, 'I am the Magic that flows through your veins, that has brought you great power and sight' but Magic did not say: 'I am the Creator of the world and your Creator.' Now in the same style, I spoke to you, a Chief of the Khazars, when you ask me about my belief. I answered you as was fitting, and is fitting for the whole of the Dark who knew these, things. First from personal experience, and afterward through uninterrupted tradition, which is equal to the former."

"What a beautiful explanation, Lord Malfoy," Magd said. "My husband may not have our magic, but he is learning to understand our ways."

The Chief replied with a practiced phrase, "I believe in the Magic of Mordred, Morgana and Morgause, who led the children of the Dark through prophecy and wisdom."

Magd continued, "I believe in the magic of my core that brought me water in the desert and gave me protection from the wild beasts of the forest."

The Chief finished, "I trust in the Magic that sent Dedi to Egypt to tell the world of the Laws of Magic."

The majority of the assembled wizards nodded in approval at the recitation of the familiar vow. It was verbiage that was commonly A skeptical elder death eater raised his voice to be heard from aways down the table, "You recite the words well, but will you raise your children in our ways or in that of your own people?"

"It is very important to Magd that any children we might have are raised in the old ways. My people are isolationists, not used to intermarriage as are yours. For the love of my dearest wife I have agreed to raise the children in your ways." He chuckled, "She refused to marry me otherwise!" There were chuckles and nods of approval from the assembled Dark Wizards.

The conversation turned to a discussion of raising children. Tom became bored. He was reasonably confident that the bride would steer her husband towards the alliance. He was also confident that the majority of the assembled wizards would approve of the alliance after having interrogated the young chief. The Khazarie were a powerful warrior tribe and their elven magic presented a huge advantage. Elven magic worked on a different frequency than light or dark magic. This was why house elves were so very useful. Elves could pop in and out of the most heavily warded buildings as if there were no barriers at all. A direct spell could kill them, but passive magic like shields, wards, and illusions were ineffective. These Royal Elves may look like wizards but anatomically and magically they couldn't be more different. They would make perfect spies or the first wave in an attack, slipping past the wards and attacking from within. They were also quite skilled in martial magic, a skill set most of his death eaters lacked.

The conversation had come back around to the old ways, Lucius had been asked by one of the Chief's entourage about the Dark's views on the nature of time. It seemed that the clan had done a reasonable amount of research to prepare for the dinner. This concept had puzzled the warrior. "Elves see time as a river, always moving forward, you may get off and walk along the shore line, but when you get back in the water the current will carry you on." The elf remarked.

Lucius' eyes sparkled. He had worried that he would find the conversation lacking tonight. A village girl and a young leader who was new to their ways did not project an image of intelligence and eloquence, but rather naïveté. He was delighted to find that though the bride was simple, she was quite respectful and the assembled elves were intelligent and thirsty for knowledge. The conversation at the dinner had been most enjoyable, he felt. "This is true in our view as well, but only up to a point. The metaphor of the river leaves out a central concept in our description of time. In the old ways, we are taught that time is not linear as a river, but a cascading spiral. Though time moves from the outer edge in, it repeats the pattern laid out by previous revolutions."

"An interesting image, but a cyclical view of time would deny progress would it not?" Asked the elf.

Lucius smiled and said,"That is why the metaphor is a spiral and not a circle. In a year we see the seasons turn as they did in the previous year, everything happening in its appropriate time. This is cyclical. However, the events of one year are not the same as the events of the previous year or the next. This is linear. The spiral allows us to see a point in time in reference to the other points it is aligned with. And not only on a yearly rotation. Larger movements are cyclical as well. Would not you agree that history repeats itself? We see wars between the same factions, again and again, often times centered around the same issues and comprising of the same difficulties. Progress, however as you mentioned, is key. In each conflict more ground is won, more minds are changed, history moves forward."

"You speak of the matter at hand. I was wondering if any of you wizards ever would." The elf chuckled.

"Have we been boring you up to this point?" Lucius asked with the roguish smirk. He knew full well that the elf had been enjoying the conversation.

"Not at all Lord Malfoy, but pleasantries aside, we are here to discuss an alliance. We are here because you desire our help in your war. I wonder what you plan on offering us in exchange?" The elf replied.

"I believe that is a conversation best left to the Dark Lord and your Chief. Shall we men retire to the lounge? Ladies, I believe my lovely wife has prepared the parlor for you." Dolohov instructed. The guests went off to their respective after dinner rest bites, and the Dark Lord and the chief went to Dolohov's office to hammer out the details. Forty-five minutes later, the men were all at least two brandies in and the woman had had as much tea and pastries as they could stomach. Couples began leaving, many had children they wished to get home too. The warriors that had come with the chief stayed with only a handful leaving to escort Magd home.

When the Dark Lord finally emerged from the office he was followed by a smiling elf. After the last of the guests left Lucius asked, "Do we have a vow?"

The Dark Lord looked up at the taller man, "Three hundred men, ten vaults of gold, and six dragons trained for war."

"That is more than we hoped for." Lucius reminded him.

"But at what cost?" Tom replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked this one. The dinner the death eaters have with the elves is based off of a text about the real life Khazars.


	9. The Letter / Ungrateful Son / The Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a weekend at home. Harry gets a letter. Draco tells it like it is. Story time with Draco. A weekend with Lucius. Finally the date of the arrival of the delegations from the foreign Wizarding schools arrived. Hermione asks an inappropriate question. The Champions are chosen. Hermione gets a P.

Harry's first weekend with the Dark Lord was drawing steadily nearer; he felt as though it were crouching ahead of him like some horrific monster, barring his path. He had never suffered nerves like these; they were way beyond anything he had experienced before a Quidditch match, not even his last one against Slytherin, which had decided who would win the Quidditch Cup. He kept imagining himself in an exit-less room surrounded by death eaters with their wands all pointed at him.

Harry had expected … Well, he didn't know exactly what he had expected, but it wasn't Sirius Black. He had imagined a terrifying death eater would be waiting for him on the docks to take him to his first weekend studying with the Dark Lord. Instead, his bouncing, overly excited, newly found father was eagerly awaiting him with an enormous goofy smile plastered on his face. Harry almost skipped as he ran down the rickety wooden plank from the ship to the dock.

"Good to see you, Pup" Sirius said in way of greeting well he ruffled Harry's hair.

Harry smiled in response, "I wasn't expecting to see you." The shock of finding himself with a new role as Melek looming on the horizon had worn off slightly now, and the fear of what was facing him had started to sink in. Harry was finding it hard to think about the future at all without turning himself into a nervous wreck. He had never wanted fame, or power, or influence. And now some bloody bloodstone had decided he would have all three thrust upon him, in a new and terrible way. He hoped that he could avoid the issue for as long as physically possible.

"I wasn't expecting to get to pick you up. The Dark Lord had pressing matters this weekend and has instructed me to teach you a little bit about being a spy for your first weekend, but we can get to that later. How was your first week at school? Was Durmstrang a lot like Hogwarts? What classes are you taking? Are you making friends? Meet any cute girls?" Sirius rambled off the questions in quick succession not allowing Harry any time to get a word in to answer.

Harry laughed, he was glad that after a hard week at school he would have a relaxing weekend with Black. The sight of a friendly face was everything at the moment. Kidnapped or not, this was the closest he had ever come to having a normal home life, a father, a family. Harry decided right then, that he was going to enjoy himself. There was no point in pretending he was kidnapped anymore. He wouldn't trade Black for his old life with the Dursley's if a wand was pointed at his head. "I'm glad it's you," Harry admitted.

Sirius smiled warmly down at Harry for a moment and then swept him into a tight hug. Harry could feel a wetness on his face that could only mean one thing. Black was crying. Harry felt a small pain in his chest. He, Harry, was likely the only chance Black would have had at having a family either. His parents were dead now, his brother, his school friends. He must have suffered such loneliness over the last decade and a half. Locked alone in a cell, forced to dwell on his worst memories, it must have been torturous to know that everyone he loved was dead, except a son that didn't even know who he was. Harry tightened the hug and let Black cry a little while longer. Eventually, the older man's silent tears, his little moment of weakness, past. He pulled back and gave a genuine, loving smile to his son. "Let's go home."

Harry nodded, and Black pulled out a small copper coin holding it out towards Harry. When Harry's fingers made contact with the coin, he felt a familiar tug at his navel.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Back at the manner, Harry felt a sense of belonging that he hadn't all summer. Somehow, over the course of a week, he had grown to miss the place. He missed his room with the dancing posters and rebellious teenage flair. He missed having breakfast in bed with Sirius and listening to stories about the marauders. He missed spending long afternoons flying over the grounds. He felt ... at home. In a way that he thought he felt Hogwarts could only be, this place had become his home.

Harry and Sirius went up to Harry's bedroom and talked long into the night about Harry's first week at school. It was a surreal experience for Harry. The Dursley's had never cared about how Harry felt about his school. After his first day of primary school, he had walked home by himself. The Dursley's had picked Dudley up and taken him for ice cream. They told Harry he had to go back to the house and clean the kitchen before dinner. This was better. This was so so so much better.

Harry went to sleep that night with a smile spread across his face. He didn't have nightmares that night. Instead, he dreamed of flying. He soared through the air on his broomstick, the wind in his hair and the sun on his face.

They spent the weekend goofing around the manor. Harry was apparently learning how to blend in, in a room of light wizards. Harry pointed out that he had been doing so for the past three years. Sirius informed him that thinking he was a Light wizard and pretending to be one were quite different. Pretending apparently required a lot more pranks, from what Harry could see.

On the second day, Severus came in the afternoon to give him an actual lesson. They worked on recognizing poisons. Severus seemed extremely interested in Harry's Poisons and Antidotes class at school. Though he didn't feel that Harry had the skill level to truly excel in the art of potion making, he was begrudgingly impressed at the curriculum the potions master was allowed to teach. Apparently, at Hogwarts the curriculum had been set centuries ago and potions masters were not allowed to deviate except in the most rudimentary of ways.

At the end of the weekend, Sirius took Harry back to the boat. There were a handful of other Durmstrang students leaving their parents behind. It struck Harry that most Hogwarts students must miss their parents constantly. Harry had never missed the Dursleys, but he knew that Hermione missed her parents and wrote to them regularly. It must be easier for students like Ron who had several siblings at school with him.

Lost in thought, Harry was startled half to death when a heavy weight landed on his shoulders, he felt the talons pressing on his skin over his crimson uniform. He closed his eyes almost not believing it to be true, "Hedwig?" Her reassuring coo was followed by a loving nuzzle.

Feeling more complete than he had in months, Harry boarded the ship, his snowy white owl on his shoulder. At least in this part of the world, she wouldn't be as recognizable. Harry had seen a number of snowy owls flying from house to house in the Durmstrang village. Nipping at his ear, Hedwig alerted him of her ulterior motive for returning to him. She stuck out a leg and presented a small scroll.

Harry unfurled it nervously and read:

Harry,

I hope very much that this reaches you alive and safe. Dumbledore, Ron and I have been working tirelessly to reach you. My first several attempts all came back to me. I hope this one gets through. Dumbledore has been searching all over the country for you. If you're reading this, you have to find a way to escape, or to write back to me. Let me know that you are alive. If you tell me where you are we can mount a rescue.

Hoping this finds you,

Hermione

So they had been searching for him. They had written. Harry wondered why the letters wouldn't have gotten to him at Black Manor? Sirius had said that the words were very strong, but surely they allowed owls in? Why would the Black family block off all communication with the outside world? He thought about writing to Ron and Hermione. Should he at least let them know that he was alright? Hermione would be so worried... but they wouldn't understand would they? They would try to rescue him. He was fairly sure at this point, he didn't want to be rescued. He may not completely understand his new life, but this weekend had proven to him that he had a family now. Someone who loved him, and needed him. How could he go back? Dumbledore would just send him back to the Dursley's next summer.

He missed Ron and Hermione deeply, he missed Hogwarts, he missed Fred and George and their exploding gumballs. It just wasn't enough. He needed to give this new life a chance. He had learned so much more about the Wizarding world in the past few months then he had in the past three years at Hogwarts. He was tired of feeling like an outsider in the magical world. He was tired of being the boy who lived. The stone had shown him that he wouldn't have long before he became something else to the world, but he wanted to take this opportunity to be normal. At Durmstrang he was just another student. He went to class, ate lunch with his peers, and no one looked at him in the halls. No one pointed and whispered about him. No one thought he was a hero, no one thought he was a monster. Life seemed easier at the moment. Was that selfish? Naïve? Was it so wrong to want to take the easier route for the short term?

Easier. It would be easier. If he went back to England, if he went back to the Light, he would be defying the Dark Lord. If Voldemort was willing to let him live now, he surely wouldn't be if he went back to Hogwarts. It wasn't just about him was it? If he went back to Hogwarts, what would happen to Sirius? The Dark Lord wouldn't forgive a Death Eater for letting the boy who lived get away. Sirius couldn't go back to England either. The ministry was still looking for him. He had murdered Pettigrew even if it was over a decade after he had been convicted of the crime. He had escaped from Azkaban too. Shurley ministry wouldn't allow that to go unpunished?

Harry crinkled up the note and shoved it in his pocket. No, he couldn't write back. He desperately wanted to, but no good would come of it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When Harry returned to Durmstrang he told Draco about the letter. He didn't have anyone else to tell. He had to confide in someone, and Draco was his only option. Draco had been giving him the silent treatment for days. Harry couldn't understand why the letter had upset him so much. What did he care if Harry wrote back to Hermione or not?

It's not like they were really friends. They were just ceasing hostility because they had to go to school together and they were the only ones they knew. Well... Harry was beginning to know Gavrial better and Draco seemed to study with Annika a lot, but Draco was the only one who knew who he really was. That had to count for something.

He felt the floor creek, the mattress next to his dipping slightly as Draco climbed into his bed, keeping well away from Harry, rolling so his back faced Harry's bed. The reality of the situation struck Harry so hard he almost laughed. "I wonder why the Dark Lord chose you," he said out loud before he had really made a conscious decision to speak. "I mean there were lots of other Hogwarts students our age at the ball," he clarified without turning over. "Why did he choose you as my. . .why would he think that you and I. . ."

"Potter, I am not accustomed to chatting in bed," Draco's voice was sharp and cutting, and far more bitter than Harry was prepared for.

"I am," He answered without thinking.

Draco let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Have vast amounts of worldly experience, do you, Golden Boy?" he asked, his voice filled with mockery.

Face burning red in embarrassment, Harry turned over to glare at the Malfoy heir. "That's not what I meant!" he shouted. He was completely unprepared for the sight of Draco Malfoy lying in the bed beside his, dressed only in a pair of black sleep pants, amusement and disdain shining in his eyes with equal parts. Harry sighed and lay back down. "Ron's bed was next to mine at Hogwarts," he explained simply. "We talked at night." Something, he guessed, he'd be sorely missing in his life now.

"Do I in any way, shape or form remind you of the weasel?" Draco demanded.

"Ron's my best friend! Don't call him that!" Harry yelled.

"Do you honestly think that the weasel and the mud-blood would want anything to do with you if they knew you were a dark wizard? They would HATE you! They HATE us! They and their families have been trying to either kill us or legislate us into submission for generations!"

Shocked, Harry could only glare at him in fury. "Were you born this hateful or did you take lessons somewhere?!"

"Years of practice, Potter! Sorry, I grew up knowing not to mix with the enemy." Draco shouted back at him.

"I hate you!" Harry shouted. He didn't want to hear this. Ron and Hermione were his BEST FRIENDS. They couldn't hate him just because his blood was different than they thought.

"Good! My life is complete!" Draco said in frustration, gathering the sheets around himself as he turned his back to Harry.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry slept poorly. The next morning he had to run to make it to his dueling class. Right before he walked in he took out his time turner and made a quick rotation to make up for the hour that he had overslept. The first week Harry had assumed that dueling practice would be very similar to combat training. He could not have been more wrong. It was both nothing like the dueling club they had at Hogwarts nor anything like his combat class.

Dueling Practice was more like a combination of Charms and Transfiguration. The majority of the class was spent learning a series spells that the instructor said would be used in a choreographed duel in the second half of the class. That aspect at least was similar to combat training. The class overall was also focusing on the art of dueling. Harry had not realized that there were strict rules and a courtly level of etiquette associated with dueling. His only two experiences were the scuffle in his first year with Draco and the farce of a dueling club the previous year at Hogwarts.

The first week they focused on the basic etiquette: how and when to bow to your opponent, how to challenge and accept, and when it was appropriate to decline a duel. The professor, a beautiful older witch in her 70s with long black hair that was beginning to gray, spoke eloquently about the practice. Harry learned that it was not a barbaric custom, but rather an expression of skill and poise. Duels rarely ended in death, and though the techniques they were learning were aggressive in nature, they were part of a tradition that dated back centuries.

"Those of you that have been accepted into my class will learn the subtle and delicate dance that is the formal duel. This is not the brutish movements of combat warfare, but rather the beauty and finesses of a perfect waltz. This is not a class for the slow witted or clumsy. The formal duel requires a wizard have a vast array of spells at his disposal, quick mental recall, and great agility." She then did a number of quick acrobatic moves that ended in a roll, crouch and succession of rapidly fired spells at a training dummy. The class clapped. It was impressive to see a woman of her age move so gracefully. She reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall, but with Madam Hooch's nimbleness.

She then moved slowly through the steps of an opening move as she explained the reason behind each motion. Harry found the movements that the professor took them through reminded him of flying, they were fluid and transformative, not like the blunt physical nature of combat training. A well-fought duel was quick, yet polite, challenging, yet ordered. It was an invigorating way to start the morning. The homework was a bit less so. She piled a number of spells on for them to master before their next class.

Harry found his Spell Creation class to be one of his absolute favorites classes and yet likely the course he had the most trouble with. Professor Ryanu focused on the history of spell creation in the first week. Then he moved onto the mechanics of spell creation. The class used a great deal of arithmancy and Harry wished that he had taken that instead of Divination. As it turned out, Draco was a huge nerd. The boy was brilliant at arithmancy. The numbers and symbols just made Harry's head spin. Draco glided through the charts and found the answers easily. Harry had been scared initially that their fight would alter the agreement they had made the previous week. Harry desperately needed Draco's help with his challenging homework. Draco seemed to think of helping Harry as a way of showing off. It fed his narcissism, so it benefited both of them in a way. In their second week, the class went through the steps to write a simple levitation spell. Harry somehow instinctively knew that there had to be more to a spell than just a wand movement and some Latin words; he was surprised to find out just how much more there truly was.

In Human Transfiguration, they were learning to do the very smallest of glamours. Next year the class would focus on animagus transformations, but for the first couple months, they were studying the magic of disguise. Last class they had learned to lengthen, shorten and change the color of their own hair. This week they were advancing to skin color manipulation. Harry was worried at first that the transfigurations would disrupt the Dark Lord's manipulations, but he always seemed to come back to his new face when the charms were lifted.

Harry thought that he and Draco had gotten past their animosity when Draco was willing to help with his spell creation homework, but he learned on the way to his potions class that he couldn't have been more wrong. Draco pushed past Harry on the way into the classroom purposefully squaring his shoulder to hit Harry so that his books and ingredients tumbled out of his bag and onto the floor.

"Watch it, Mate!" Harry said, but when he looked up he noticed the anger in Malfoy's steps as he walked away.

Realizing that the movement had been completely purposeful Harry scooped his ingredients into his bag and stumbled forward. He grabbed a cauldron from the cubbies along the front wall and through his books and ingredients into it. He drug the cauldron up to a table near the front, as far away from Draco as he could manage. If Draco didn't want to be Harry's friend, that was fine with him. The spoiled little brat probably didn't know what true friendship was anyways. Not with the way he treated Crab and Goyle like bodyguards, anyways.

Poisons and Antidotes proved to be just as difficult for Harry as Professor Snape's class had been. Harry was deeply disappointed by that, he had somehow felt that if he could excel at potions in this new school then he could blame his failings on Snape's teaching abilities. The first semester was focused on the students assembling a travel pack of potions, common antidotes to help in first aid situation whether on the battlefield or in everyday life.

Harry was conflicted, he was both very angry with Draco, thus finding it hard to concentrate, and also very interested in the pain potion they were working on. It was an incredibly versatile potion that could be used to treat residual spell pain from everything from a barding hex to the cruciatus curse. Harry could see how having a small stockpile of the potions around could be incredibly useful.

Draco left the class after he turned in his perfect potion. He had been awarded full marks and even given praise openly by the professor in front of the class. Harry's potion was still a bit lacking. It was at least three shades darker than it was supposed to be. A deep midnight blue. The professor said that although it would still likely work, you would not be nearly as effective as the correct preparation would have made it. She explained to Harry that he had likely stirred his potion to vigorously after adding the troll hair. Harry left the class disappointed in himself.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

A fortnight later, Harry and Draco had come to an unspoken understanding that they were going to move past their fight over Hermione's letter. It was late in the evening and Draco had offered to help Harry with his essays. They were working on Harry's homework for International Magical Relations. Harry had made several catastrophic miss-assumptions that weakened the argument in his essay severely. Draco was attempting to correct those assumptions.

Draco was viciously marking up Harry's first draft to the point where there was vastly more red ink on the page and there was black. Draco had just scratched through an entire paragraph and was scribbling down notes when Harry snatched the parchment from him. "But muggle-borns were hated more back then, wouldn't that mean the Dark was in control?"

Harry reasoned.

Draco looked at Harry like he was the stupidest person he had ever seen. "One has nothing to do with the other!" Draco stood up from the desk and snatched the parchment back gesturing to it.

"But Dark wizards hate Muggles and Muggle-borns!" Harry all but screamed. He was so frustrated with his arrogant little snot of a companion. It was like pulling teeth to try to get Draco to explain why Harry was wrong. Drago was more than happy to tell Harry that he was wrong, it was the why that seemed to be too time-consuming. Regardless, the why was the most important part to Harry. He hadn't realized at Hogwarts how easy it was to blend in when there were so many muggle-born and half-blood students. Harry was just as clueless as half the kids around him. Here, however, everyone came from a long line of pureblood wizards the classes assumed that you already knew the basics. Sometimes, to Harry, it felt like being in a foreign country and not being able to speak the language

The blonde moved around Harry making his way over to the kitchen. Harry noticed that Draco seemed to like to argue. Harry could always tell when Draco was gearing up for a big one when he went to the kitchen in the middle of a conversation and got himself something to drink. His mouth must go try a lot when he yelled. What a pansy.

"At the moment, but Dark/muggle-born relations has nothing to do with Light/Dark relations or the balance of political power in the Wizengamots!" Draco fumed. It was like having to explain something to a child with Harry. Nothing got through that thick skull.

Terry thought that he might be starting to assemble the pieces to the puzzle. He wasn't putting it together yet, but at least he knew what some of the pieces were. "At the moment?... The Dark hasn't always hated muggle-borns?" Harry said turning this new information over in his mind.

The Malfoy heir poured himself a cup of tea from a kettle that magically refilled self, a gift from Lady Malfoy. "For the past hundred years or so, but only because muggle technology has progressed to the point where their weapons are a threat to us. There has always been background apprehension about Muggles just because there are so many more of them then there are of us, but that was felt by both Dark and Light wizards. Muggles have a habit of killing or destroying things they don't understand and they don't understand magic." Draco explained. Harry sneered at the know-it-all as he drank from his teacup, pinky finger in the air.

Harry sat down on the arm of the couch in defeat, when that didn't feel satisfying enough he let himself fall backward so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. "So there have been times when Light wizards hated Muggles too?" He asked.

The blond patrician took a long sip and walking over to an armchair. "Absolutely, Light wizards have orchestrated political assassinations of Muggles, backed one party or another in a war to further magical interests, and even supported muggle-born isolation measures," Draco confirmed.

"Then the association between Dark wizards and the suppression of Muggles is a recent thing." Harry mused, his head still hanging upside down. When he noticed Draco staring at him oddly, he pulled at the hem of his T-shirt that had fallen down a bit exposing some of his lower stomach due to his incline.

Draco rolled his eyes, he had JUST said that. "Exactly. You seem to be under the misguided impression that Dark/Light and pro/anti-muggle are the only political divides...Wizarding society is complex. Our people are divided along income lines, wealth lines, magical power lines, religious lines. The strife between the peasant class and the elite is far greater than that of pro or anti-muggle integration factions."

Harry thought for a moment, the blood rushing to his head, he repositioned to lie on the couch instead of hanging off of it. "I think I can see that... Hermione would lose it if she realized the economic divide. Sirius was telling me about the lower class schools... It's amazing, I bet you could make it all the way through Hogwarts without ever meeting someone outside the ... upper class"

"Ruling class." Draco corrected crossing his legs neatly. "And only if you never went shopping. Nocturne Alley and Diagon Alley are full of peasants and everyone goes there for school shopping. I suppose you could send your house elf or a servant or something, but you would still see them in Hogsmeade."

Harry stared at the ceiling of their little cottage. "Still seems like not very many people to 'rule'," Harry mumbled.

"Oh, that's just the merchant class peasants. If you ever went to a proper Wizarding town you would see loads of them. Little villages of witches and wizards with less magic in a whole family than Longbottom." Draco scoffed.

Harry imagined a whole village where Neville was the most powerful wizard and chuckled internally. "Maybe Sirius will take me on vacation over winter break and I can see for myself," Harry said wistfully thinking of making up for lost time with his new found father.

"Are you forgetting that you have to train over your breaks? You have to train on the weekends too!" Draco said crashing Harry back down to reality.

Harry stared at the other boy blankly. He had completely forgotten. Between the fear and excitement of going to a new school with such completely different classes, and having to meet new people, and make nice with Draco...The upcoming weekend and his first real training had been completely forgotten. The last several weekends he had stayed with Sirius and worked with Snape. This weekend was going to be his first real training. Maybe the Dark Lord would forget as well, maybe no one would come to pick him up. Who was coming for him anyways? Probably Sirius, but to do what exactly? "Oh. Yeah... What exactly do you think that will be?" Harry asked dumbly.

"How should I know? It's not exactly like the Dark Lord goes around offering to train people regularly." Draco scoffed with the mildest pout on his lips.

Harry had never really considered the fact that Draco could quite possibly be jealous of his extra training. Harry saw it as a burden, something he was being forced to do in order to prove he was transitioning into his new alignment. Harry wondered, what made the Dark Lord order him into a training regiment in the first place? Why would he care if Harry secretly still support the Light or wholeheartedly supported the Dark? He was just one teenage kid.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry was in History of Magic. They were discussing the distraction of an ancient Dark temple.

The professor was walking up and down the aisles of desks gesticulating wildly as he talked. "While the Dark City, Baruk, was under siege there was an agreement between the Dark and Light that every night the dead would be allowed to be taken out of the city to be buried. The Dark wizard Lord Zakkai had himself placed in a coffin to cross the lines and come into the Light's camp." Professor Galen lectured, "Mr. Black, can you tell me why?"

Harry racked his brain trying to remember from his reading. The downside of using the time turner was that where most students had done the reading last night, only a good night's sleep away in time, Harry had done the reading perhaps 20 or more hours ago along with the readings for his other classes. After a certain point, they all seem to jumble together. "He ... He went to a Light lord in the village. He told him he was being named to the Wizengamot."

Galen pivoted on his heel and walked down the row he had just walked up. "Good, and why did that matter?" It often frustrated Harry when he did that. He never just accepted your first answer, he always asked to follow up. It made it very hard to get away with not really knowing the answer.

Harry was saved when Anika raised her hand high in the air but spoke before Professor Galen had a chance to call on her, "He was a seer and just after he told the light lord what he saw a messenger owl arrived telling the lord that he was indeed appointed to the Wizengamot." Harry smiled at Anika in thanks. She returned the smile with a soft nod.

Galen smiled, "That's right, in his elation over the good news he granted Zakkai three requests. Gavril, what was the first?"

Gavril knew the answer instantly and said, "He asked for the family of the priest Gamaliel be spared." Gavril was studying to be a priest himself, so it wasn't exactly difficult to imagine that he would've Already known that side of the story in great detail.

Galen nodded, "and the second...Boris?" he asked a stout black haired boy.

The boy at the back of the class fidgeted nervously, "That his own family be spared?"

Galen shook his head, "Unfortunately that is incorrect. He asked that the great prophetess of the era, Tzalin, who had been fasting on a regular basis for forty years, be given medical attention" the black haired boy put his head back down as he scribbled notes. "His last request was immortalized in the words, 'Give me Yavne and it's prophets.' What did that mean?" Harry raised his hand. "Mr. Black?"

Harry new this morning. Draco had gone over it with him. "He was asking for the Holy City of the Sight to be spared. What I don't understand is why he didn't ask for something more important like the temple itself?" Harry asked.

"Excellent question. It is the opinion of historians that he knew such a request would not be granted. The Light was set on a path of destruction. Asking for something larger might have backfired and he would have squandered his chance to save what he could." Galen explained.

"The Light lord was thrilled because he thought that the old man didn't know what to ask for. He considered the requests to be more or less meaningless. What he didn't realize was that the victory of Light would be nullified, because the line of Dark sight lived on to provide prophecy for our people for generations. By keeping Tzalin alive, he relied on the principle that one righteous prophet can influence and protect an entire generation. Any thoughts?"

Anika raised her hand again and said, "The Light lord thought he was giving the Dark nothing, in reality, he was giving the Dark everything. The temple may have been gone, but the Dark emerged from the conflict with our Sight intact."

"And why is prophecy so important to the Dark? The Light has seers too! Do they not?" Galen asked the class, bouncing on his heels. No one answered.

"We are a people of a cyclical destiny. Prophecy has guided us through our most crucial moments and represents our connection to Magic itself. It was through Sight that the first Dark prophets communicated with Magic." Gavril spoke the words with true feeling and belief, finishing just before the bell rang.

~.~.~.~

Harry and Draco were walking along the rocky shoreline of the island on one of their few free moments. They had gone out to practice their meditation techniques for their Combat Training class, but they were finding it hard to clear their minds.

"That's just what Dumbledore would have you believe! Yes, there are dark offensive spells, but dark wizards are no more constantly fighting than light wizards are. Dark magic is used for everyday tasks just like light magic. Defense Against the Dark Arts is a propaganda class. It instills in the students the impression that dark magic is only used to torture and kill. At least that werewolf had enough sense to actually teach us about dark animals and not just about how 'evil' dark wizards and dark creatures are." Draco seemed to have made it his life's mission to correct Harry constantly.

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. Draco could be so dramatic. "If DADA at Hogwarts is a propaganda class then what do you call International Magical Relations here?! All professor Xie talks about is how the Light oppresses the Dark. Some of his lessons make him sound like a conspiracy theorist!"

Draco kicked a rock, "International Magical Relations is supposed to teach us how to navigate in Light controlled governments; that's one of its major goals. My father told me Professor Xie was in his day very high up in the Hungarian ministry at a time when Dark oppression was extremely high. The stuff we learn there could save our carriers some day."

"Maybe yours. I have no interest in politics." Harry mumbled to himself. Harry closed his eyes, sucked in the cold sea air into his lungs and tried not to think about the arrogant little twerp that had by necessity become his best friend. What Harry didn't see was the odd look Draco was giving him. "I'm just saying when the Dark starts talking about how oppressive the Light is they sound an awful lot like the Light talking about how evil the Dark is."

"We." Darco corrected. He was tired of walking so he sat down on the beach.

"What?" Harry said, Sitting down next to him.

"You said 'they sound'. You should have said 'we sound'. You are a dark wizard, Black. You sound like the ungrateful son." Draco chided.

"Ungrateful son?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I forget you know less than nothing about your heritage." Draco turned his body to face Harry and settled in for a long explanation. Harry just raised an eyebrow at the blonde. "Once upon a time,"

Harry shoved Draco on the shoulder.

"Do you want to know the story or not?" Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Once upon a time, there was a man with three sons. His oldest son was wise, a potions master. The second son was wicked, an ungrateful blood traitor. The third son was simple, an animal trainer. The fourth son didn't know how to cast, a squib. Now-"

"Wait. You said he had three sons." Harry said pointing out the discrepancy.

"The squib doesn't count. Now the four brothers came home to find their father in a state of exuberance. He had just come from a chance encounter with a seer from another village. The seer had told him of his oldest son's future accomplishments. He would discover a cure for a great illness and save thousands of lives. His third son would travel the world, discovering new magical creatures and bring great knowledge and understanding to his people. His youngest son would live a quiet life of peaceful contentment taking care of the family estate and his aging parents until their death. But, when the seer looked into the future of his second son there was a great fog. She told him of his two most likely paths, one that would lead him to be a great leader of his people, the other would curse their people bringing death and misfortune for generations. The seer cautioned that love would create the wicked path. However, she warned that if love were circumvented and his son chose honor and duty then their people would celebrate a century of prosperity and peace.

The father explained to his sons the great fortunes he had been told, but when he got to his second son's fortune he only told him the path to greatness fortune and warned him to choose duty and honor over love as it could lead him astray. Where the other sons were ecstatic and filled with pride at the knowledge of their upcoming success, the second son grieved over his loss of freedom to choose his own path. He erupted in a rage of uncontrolled magic, nearly destroying their family home. When his father came to him in his despair the second son rejected his father and left their home.

Years passed and the eldest son became a great potions master. The third son became a great explore and master of beasts. The youngest son became the manager of the family's great estate. One day, the second son returned to the village and brought with him his pregnant wife. She was beautiful with long blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes. That night they all had dinner as a family for the first time in years and celebrated the second son's return, his new wife, and their unborn child. The father knew that his son had chosen love and he was happy for his son but terrified of the consequences. When the father asked his son about the night of the prophecy his son asked him, 'What does this drudgery mean to you?' To you and not to him. He excluded himself in his question as he had excluded himself from his family. The second son's wife was a witch from a distance Village, a light which. Her son was the first Muggle."

Harry sat and thought. This must be a wizarding fairy tale to explain where Muggles come from and to teach Dark children not to mix their blood with light children's in later life. It was a good story, and Draco told it well. It was more than evident from his cadence that Draco had heard the story many times over. "But the story doesn't make any sense. What's the moral? That love is evil? And how can a light witch and a dark wizard create a Muggle? At very most they would create a pureblood squib."

Draco turned towards the water, a small smooth rock in his hand. "The moral isn't that love is evil, it is that you should choose honor and duty, sacrifice for the greater good of your people over your own selfish desires... And it's a fairytale, what do you expect? The story says that they had a Muggle, so they created a muggle." Draco said with a sense of finality, skipping the rock across the water.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Draco?" Harry whispered. He was in their house again with Draco. It was around one in the morning, and they had just finished their essays for spell creation and gone to bed.

"'m asleep." Mumbled Draco from his bed. He nuzzled into his pillow and pulled the blankets tighter around himself, rolling so that his back faced Harry.

"I can't stop thinking about that story," Harry said as if to the air. He was staring into the ceiling at the dancing star patterns. They haven't always been there, Draco had asked his mother for the spell. Apparently, he had them on his own ceiling at home and needed them to sleep.

"...what story?" Draco asked begrudgingly, Rolling onto his back. There was no point in trying to sleep when Harry had something on his mind.

"The one you told me a couple days ago about the man with four sons," Harry said watching the stars dance.

"Three sons." Draco corrected. "What about it?"

"Do dark wizards all have a vendetta against Muggles because of that story and traditions like it?" Harry asked, feeling that he already knew the answer. He knew that there was no going back, this was his alignment now. But he still didn't agree with a lot of the prejudices.

"some might, but not all," Draco confirmed, wondering what brought this on. It was just a story after all.

"… but… the death eaters, and the Dark Lord?" Harry said in a small voice, wondering if he would ever fully agree with his new alliance.

"The Dark Lord had a personal vendetta against muggles in the last war," said Draco calmly. "No one truly knows why, or at least my father never told me, but it is a known fact that they are a threat to all wizards, be they Light or Dark. My father mentioned many times that if muggles were to discover our existence they wouldn't hesitate in killing us, and that, despite our magic, we would be too outnumbered to prevent our own massacre. Their tech – no-lo-gy is too dangerous to us. They could drop a bomb on one of our villages, and we would have no defense. That is what the story of the three sons was about. It was a warning against involvement with those outside our people. Dark wizards tend to be isolationists, but we have centuries of disastrous history to back up that stance. The Dark Lord's main opposition against muggle-borns is that they allow their muggle families to know about our existence, thus putting us in danger. But my family has never thought that we should kill all muggles. There're too many of them. We simply wanted full segregation from them, and muggle-borns stand in the way of that."

"Hmm," Harry said to the stars. It seemed more and more to Harry, that every time he ran up against an obstacle with his new alliance there was always an explanation, always a way around the apparent evil.

He had always assumed that dark wizards chose to be dark, he was wrong. The Dark was more like a race than a political party. He had always assumed the dark magic was dark because it was inherently cruel or destructive, but in the few weeks that he had spent at the notorious Dark Academy he had found brilliant and magnificent uses for his own dark magic that weren't at all harmful.

He had never stopped to think about why the dark families refused to marry into light families. Sirius had explained that it often led to defects in the child's magical core. Interbreeding lead to weaker cores and the light blood was the more dominate in the mix. This interbreeding would eventually lead to the extinction of the Dark and thus dark magic, if they bred with muggle-borns and light families for generations.

He always thought the Slytherins were mindless blood purists with an insane and unfounded prejudice against muggle-borns. He had assumed that all dark wizards hated muggles and plotted for their annihilation, but now it was becoming clear that the issue was more complicated than that. And it made sense. After all, what defense would the Wizarding World have against a biochemical attack?

Harry fell asleep that night to dreams of war and death.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lucius had had a hard month. The Dark Lord had him running all over Europe meeting with different leaders and representatives to sway favor towards the Dark, subtly laying the groundwork for future full-scale negotiations. Simultaneously he was working the Wizengamot for an upcoming vote. There was new legislation coming up for a vote that stood in the way of several of the Dark Lord's plans. Lucius was working to sway votes against ratification.

He was relieved after such a busy month to have a chance to relax with his wife at home...or he WAS until the Dark Lord informed him he was going to be spending the weekend teaching Black's son about the history of the great Dark houses. At least he got to take his own son home for the weekend as well. That would make his mother happy. Lady Malfoy babied the boy, but when they were told by the medi-wizard that they were only able to have the one child, she had decided to pour all of her heart into the one child she could have. Draco had grown up to be spoiled and self-involved. Narcissa couldn't see it. She had always wanted a house full of children and couldn't see the faults in Draco.

He was standing on the docks with a handful of other parents waiting for the boat to bubble out of the water. He had apparated onto the shore around thirty minutes ago and had had to recast his warming charm twice already. The air rolling off the sea was frigid. Lucius had never liked the cold. He had always preferred his family's home in the south of France to their manor in England. There was just something about the feeling of the warm sun on his skin that was so much more satisfying than the fog of the English countryside. Lucius was looking forward to spending the weekend at the chateau even if he was spending it catering to the boy who lived.

Off on the horizon, Lucius thought he could see something beginning to emerge. One mast at a time the massive ship rose from beneath the waves. The ship had a strange, skeletal look and appeared to be similar to a 16th-century Spanish galleon, possessing a quarterdeck and forecastle. It was square-rigged and had two masts. One of the sails had a large depiction of an eagle, a dragon-like figurehead. All the masts were flying long red-yellow pennants

The great ship coasted into port and the rocks of the shore sprang to life and began to arrange themselves into a makeshift gangway. The deck of the ship started to fill with scarlet cloaked students. It seemed that around thirty students were going home this weekend. Lucius could just make out his son's blond hair bobbing up and down in the crowd. He wondered if Draco had somehow managed to grow even taller in the last few months. He had worried that Draco would be slightly shorter like his mother's side of the family. The Blacks had always been a bit shorter. Sirius at 5'9.5" was tall for his family, but seemed small to Lucius' 6'5". Draco's mother was only a hair over 5'6", but Draco seemed to be growing to a respectable height. The same couldn't be said of Harry. The boy was small. It wasn't just that he was short; he was all over small. He looked as though he had put on some weight over the Summer, but he would likely always be a bit small.

The boys were walking over to him. Lucius nodded curtly in greeting, "Draco, Harry, I trust your classes are going well?"

"Very well, thank you," Draco said back politely.

"Harry, I'm sure Draco has informed you that you will be spending the weekend with us in France. Your cousin, my Lady wife, will be happy to have you." Lucius said by way of greeting. Narcissa was in actuality Harry's first cousin once removed. Sirius was her first cousin, though they hadn't been close since childhood, and not very even then. Narcissa's sister Bellatrix was always a bit touched and was cruel to Sirius.

"Thank you, Lord Malfoy. I am looking forward to meeting her." Harry answered with a practiced reply. Harry had been nervous about spending the weekend with the Malfoy's and asked Draco what to say and do. They had been working on some basic etiquette.

Lord Malfoy nodded and pulled out a portkey to take them to France.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lucius Malfoy considered himself the perfect example of pure blood etiquette. He considered Sirius Black the perfect example of what not to do. How he had gotten roped into teaching Blacks wild muggle raised son how to be a proper son of the Noble and Most Ancient house of Black, he had no idea.

Except, he did. It was Narcissa and her near constant, passive aggressive, nagging about family, duty, and honor. Family was fine. Duty and honor were fine, but the level to which the half-mad Blacks were obsessed with their family could almost make you understand Sirius's cover. Who wouldn't want to get away from those women and the pressure they put on everyone? The reality was almost disturbing. Lady Black had done such a number on Sirius as a boy that he had dutifully ostracized himself from his family, friends, and people to serve the family cause. He had ultimately suffered Azkaban for it, given up a life with his son, and sacrificed his sanity all because the little boy inside him wanted to make his mother proud.

Now here he was staring at Harold Black trying to think of where to start. When Draco was a child, things were much simpler. Children learned as a part of life. Teaching how to perform a task was much easier than correcting a pattern of behavior that had been practiced for years. He had two days to instill in Harry a sense of what it was to be a pureblood. Perhaps the best place to start was at the beginning.

"What actions separate us as purebloods? What defines us from the perspective of an outside observer? Our beliefs are not readily visible, wealth is not universal among purebloods so our dress is not always refined, we are not all of the same nationality or skin color, yet somehow you can spot a fellow pureblood walking towards you on the street. Why?" It was a rhetorical question, but he paused to look at Harry for a reaction. Harry was staring back, analyzing Lucius, searching his face for an answer. "Separation. We live in a world of cultural threat. Assimilation is a vastly easier path, but we strive for definition and separation from the cultural pressures of the Light, and the Muggles. We do so in subtle ways. Dark pureblood wizards tend to use buttoned robes rather than lose or bound robes, we refrain from non-familial touch, and we keep our emotions off our faces. We do a multitude of small action every day to remind ourselves that we are not them."

"So there is a reason behind Dark wizards all looking cold and unfeeling?" Harry asked.

Really? That's what the boy took from that? "Yes, we have a public persona of a blank face. Shows of great emotion are encouraged to be reserved for the home, shared only with family and close friends. We are not always able to maintain this persona, but it is the goal." Lucius was looking directly at Draco here, silently acknowledging Draco's frequent temper tantrums at school. He had been scolded by his father regularly for letting his anger get the better of him and acting out in Gryffindorish anger. "Light wizards are characteristically outwardly emotional. They show affection with grandiose public displays. They show amusement through pranks and raucous laughter. They show anger through fist fights and boorish behavior. Dark wizards separate themselves by putting on a mask of indifference."

Harry thought about the differences between the Malfoy's and the Weasleys. It was clear that the Malfoys had a difficult time maintaining this concept in their day to day lives, but when Harry thought back it was clear that they were constantly attempting to be as reserved as possible. "Ok, so it's just an act for when you are in public, but Draco fights with me all the time. That's not showing a ton of emotional restraint." Harry pointed out.

"Draco would do well to try to pick fewer fights, but he should feel free to show emotions openly around you, you are family after all," Lucius said.

"Yeah... the Headmaster said something like that, I had forgotten," Harry said remembering.

"Your father and Draco's mother are first cousins. Making you and Draco second cousins. As Sirius has no living siblings, Black family tradition would follow that Sirius should turn to Narcissa as he would a sister. The Blacks take family very seriously. It is unfortunate that they have been separated so long during your father's incarceration. My wife hopes very much to build a strong relationship with your father and you by extension." Lucius explained.

Harry felt a bit embarrassed for some reason. He had never had so many people wanting to care about him. First Sirius and now apparently Lady Malfoy wanted to be a part of his family. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to come off as an overeager orphan, all needy for affection. He decided not to say anything in response, he just nodded, "Ok, so Dark purebloods dress a bit different and act a bit different to make themselves separate from Light wizards and muggles. I think I can handle that." Harry said.

Lucius very much doubted that this lion-hearted boy could keep his emotions in check. If he was anything like his father it would be an almost impossible task. He decided to nod curtly to encourage him anyways. "It's not just that a Dark wizard dresses a bit different, however, there are a great deal of rules associated with how one should dress in proper Dark pureblood society. One should dress in black or dark colors, since the wizard's demeanor should be understated and somber." A look of recognition came across Harry's face. "One should dress in such a way as to accentuate the body's strong points while hiding its defects, no matter what the current fashion rave calls for. It should be remembered that fashion is of the masses and as Dark wizards, we are in the minority. Following Light fashion is a form of cultural assimilation."

"Now that we have discussed why we do what we do let's let's talk about the rules themselves," Lucius spoke at length about the appropriate greeting to give a friend on the street, how to bow or kneel to the Dark Lord, what was appropriate to discuss in front of whom. When Harry pushed back against this onslaught of new rules Lucius said, "... You must understand it is right to frame and order your manners and doings, not according to your own mind, but to please those with whom you surround yourself, and after that direct your doings."

"Remember at all times when you are in the presence of the Dark Lord, that a Dark wizard's primary duty is to render to the Dark his loyal service and honesty. If the Dark Lord is young, the wizard should serve as a teacher. If he is an experienced ruler, the courtier should be his advisor. He always owes the Dark Lord the truth, whether it be on the battlefield or in the council chamber. If the Dark Lord is about to make a wrong decision, it is the duty of the wizard to tell him so, no matter what it might mean to his own life." Lucius instructed.

Harry paused here, "The current Dark Lord is different, though, is he in his teens or is he nearly seventy? How is he treated?"

Lucius nodded, "Though he looks in his teens, he has led the Dark for decades and is treated with the respect that his experience has earned him." Lucius went on to discuss acceptable and unacceptable table manners and personal hygiene. Much of his advice on hygiene was common sense. Lord Malfoy gave advice to what to do should Harry have a cold, "And when you have blown your nose, don't use an open handkerchief to glare ... as if you had pearls and rubies fallen from your brains..." Lucius explained how the perfect Dark Wizard would avoid all coarseness or crudeness of behavior. He stated that the wizard "should beware of coarseness in any form, because however amusing such things may seem to be, honorable wizards should only use honorable means of pleasing others. Wizards must govern their behavior and their wit which should be like the nibble of a unicorn rather than the bite of a dragon, for if it were to bite like a dragon it would not be witty but insulting".

Harry assumed that he would only be able to retain half the information Lord Malfoy was giving him. He had never been one for detail and memorization. He also wasn't sure that he wanted to follow some of these rules. While some were obvious logical ways to do a task, others seemed to make a task intentionally harder. All through the lesson, Draco had sat quietly in the corner of the room reading. When Harry had gotten particularly frustrated or confused he was there to offer an alternative explanation. Harry liked to know WHY something was done, not just how. This often took more than one explanation. The lesson ended late on Saturday. Lord Malfoy informed Harry that they would be studying the great Dark houses of Europe the next day and sent Harry and Draco to bed.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry and Draco were setting up Harry's room for the weekend. They could have called an elf, but the boys wanted an excuse to spend some time together away from Lord Malfoy's lecturing. Draco was trying to explain how Pureblood courtship worked. Harry didn't believe half of what he was being told. Draco was obviously trying to pull one over on him. Honestly, he knew they had arranged marriages but ... Draco was describing a courtship ritual where girls who had reached a marriageable age would wear an empty sheath on a belt over their robes. If the witch caught a man's eye, he would conjure a knife to put in her sheath. The witch would return the knife of a would-be suitor if she wasn't interested, but keeping his blade meant that she agreed to marry him.

Harry threw a pillow at Draco. "Why do you doubt me, Potter?!" Draco bellowed in frustration. "I'm twice as intelligent and three times as powerful as that bushy haired mud-blood! Why can't you trust that I know what I'm talking about!?"

Harry winced at the racial slur. "Yeah right, Hermione always got better grades than you." Harry retorted calmly.

Draco summoned the pillow back and placed it neatly at the head of the bed. "Getting high marks has more to do with a capacity for memorization, then it has to do with actual intelligence, power, or skill." Draco said, "The mud-blood was great at reading books and writing essays, but she was learning everything for the first time and was still excited about it like a little kid."

"Like a little kid?" Harry said raising an eyebrow. He started unfolding the top sheet and spread it out over the bed. He magicked it tight on the opposite side as Draco had stopped helping to rant.

"You know… When you're a kid and your tutor… Well, I guess you wouldn't know being raised by muggles. Pureblood children are taught by tutors for years before they go to Hogwarts. The material we learned in our first three years in the castle, most of the pureblood children had known already. It is only taught to catch the muggle-borns up with the rest of us. Didn't you wonder why Durmstrang is so much harder than Hogwarts? Why our classes feel more advanced than you would have expected the fourth year of Hogwarts to be? Durmstrang doesn't allow muggle-borns, so they don't have to teach to the lowest common denominator. Honestly, it's not really prejudiced to want to exclude muggle-born from wizarding schools, it's just practical. They hold us back; It's hard to get good marks when you are bored out of your skull." Draco ranted.

"Ron never seemed to know more than me... He's a pure blood." Harry pointed out.

"And poor as dirt." Draco reminded Harry. "It is likely that his parents could not afford a tutor for any of their many many children, and I doubt that that round redheaded ball of saccharine weasel called a mother had time to teach him much of anything running after the twin monkeys."

Harry chuckled. Where Draco's constant barbs at his former best friends had originally deeply offended him and filled him with righteous indignation, he had now come to understand that it was just the blondes sense of humor.… That and he truly hated the Weasley's. Apparently, there had been quite the family feud a few generations back, and now the two houses were so used to hating one another that there was no reversing it.

Harry had come to see that Draco was quite intelligent and quick-witted. However, it was that same intelligence that fed his massive ego.

"Wait, how did you get around underage magic laws?" Harry said pointing out the glaring discrepancy.

"Those laws are only for Britain, not every country has the same laws, Potter. In most countries those types of laws only apply to muggle-borns" He said drawing sparks from his wand to point out the rather obvious fact that they had been using magic all day without getting a letter from the ministry. "Also tutors have wands that are allowed to be used by their students during lessons."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry slept poorly that night. He tossed and turned. He dreamt he was in a massive room on a high dais surrounded by hundreds of people, their loud voices calling out to him. He couldn't make out any of their pleas for the sound of others over them but he knew they were asking for his help. Men with battle wounds begging for medical attention, women with babies asking for financial assistance to replace the loss of income after the deaths of their husbands, orphans begging for food and a place to sleep. They all looked to him. The only words he could make out were "Melek Meus."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lucius was called away the next morning, so Draco took the opportunity to write a letter to Blaise. He missed his friend. It was no hardship leaving behind Crab and Goyal, but Blaise was intelligent and funny. He was beautiful like his mother and shared Draco's vanity. Unlike Draco Blaise actually managed the goal of appearing reserved in public and kept to himself. In private, he and Draco had been friends since they have been small children. Draco had not been surprised when they were both sorted into Slytherin, but he had been ecstatic when they had both made the Quidditch team. They had spent most of the summer before practicing together. Draco finished his letter and asked Harry, "Do you want to go with me to the village to mail this letter?"

Harry looked confused, "Not that I mind getting out of the house, but why do we need to go to the village just to send an owl? Surely you have an owlery. This place is massive."

Draco got that look that he had been getting for the past month every time Harry showed his ignorance of pureblood ways, "We are behind blood wards. The estates of Lords are kept under heavy wards tied to the blood of the family. Without family blood, no one can apparate in or out, or even send a letter. It isn't appropriate to send a simple friendly letter with a drop of my blood, nor is it wise. Blood can be used in all sort of nasty rituals. There is an owlery in the village, so I thought we could just walk down there. It's a lovely morning."

"It seems really inconvenient to have to walk all the way to the village every time you want to send a letter. Not that I'm complaining, but it seems inefficient." Harry said summoning his jacket and putting it on.

"The alternative would be to constantly be bombarded with letters," Drago said looking a bit confused. Then he remembered Harry's considerable ignorance. "Lords would be constantly receiving please from their subjects. It's not exactly convenient to be interrupted by 20 owls during a meal. This way, birds are directed to the village owlery instead and a house elf picks them up and takes them to the house." Draco and Harry left the room and started to make their way to the entrance hall.

"You have subjects?" Harry asked bewildered.

"Honestly, my father isn't the Lord of nothing. We have lands in both England and France. Those Wizards that live on our lands are our subjects and we have a patron/client relationship with them." Draco explained.

"What sort of things do they ask for?" Harry asked confusedly at this seemingly archaic arrangement.

"Mostly loans. A lord is honor bound to provide loans and financial assistance to those he sees over. In times of war or conflict, the lord is responsible for protecting his people." Draco said opening the front door and stepping out into the early morning sunlight.

"How can one wizard protect so many?" Harry asked

"Remember, most of these wizards have extremely low power levels. They are simple tradesmen, factory workers that live unremarkable lives. A lord comes from a powerful magical line and has much more ability to protect the masses." Draco explained

They continued their discussion as they walked down the hill to the village. The village was like a poorer French version of Hogsmeade. Draco explained that it was a factory town. The village got most of its jobs from the Nimbus factory on the other side of the village. Harry realized that that must have been why Lord Malfoy was so willing to buy brooms for all the Slytherins in second year. He wasn't caught up in Draco's petty school rivalry, he was supporting the village economy in a subtle way. Draco explained that although the Malfoy's didn't own the factory they were investors and funded the worker's pensions.

When they got back to the château they could hear voices. They heard footsteps coming towards them and a voice say, "Lucius, the Khazarie must give us the troops they promised now for training, it's of little use to simply throw them into a battle to be slaughtered." Harry and Draco stood still. Harry recognized the voice at once, the Dark Lord was walking towards the entrance hall where Harry and Draco stood. Should they find another way out of the room? Harry looked around the unfamiliar space. Too late. The Dark Lord and Lucius were walking through the door that lead to the hall to the bedrooms and Lucius' office. Harry closed his eyes as the wave of magic rolling off the Dark Lord crashed into him. Harry opened his eyes and saw an amused smirk on the Dark Lord's lips. He had to know that he was doing that. Surely he wasn't just unfurling his aura like that all the time. It would be extremely distracting.

Tom gave the Black heir a charming smile and hissed, "Apparently Luciusss is failing at your training, you are letting your emotionsss ssshow too freely on your face. You are blussshing. Is my magic too much for you?" Tom let out another wave and watched as Harry fraught to keep his face impassive. Tom stepped closer, he found he liked how much of a reaction he got out of the boy who lived. He wasn't sure why. The boy was attractive in a petite sort of way. It was gratifying to see him blush and squirm. Tom placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, Harry couldn't help but close his eyes. Tom leaned in and whispered in a hiss, "Do try to lisssten to Luciusss." With that he stepped back, parting from Harry and made his way towards the fireplace. In a flash of green flames, he was gone.

"What the bloody hell was that!" Draco screeched the second the fire turned back to its usual yellow and orange flame.

"Draco! Language!" Lucius scolded.

"I'm sorry Father, but-"

Lucius cut him off, "No, I quite agree. Harry, what did the Dark Lord say to you?"

"You mean you couldn't hear it?" Harry asked, wondering if he had put up a privacy spell and Harry hadn't noticed.

Lucius refrained from rolling his eyes, "The Dark Lord was speaking to you in parseltongue."

"Oh, it always sounds like English to me... He didn't really say anything important..." Harry blushed. "He said that I should listen to you." He said looking up at the Malfoy Lord.

Lucius just looked at Harry. The Dark Lord, a cruel and mirthless warlord had stopped mid-thought to unfurl his aura and push his magic out at the boy. He had spoken privately to him and even went so far as to make physical contact with him. To the best of Lucius' recollection the Dark Lord had not touched anyone since he came back to power. In the last war he had never made physical contact with his death eaters, never had a physical fight, never indulged in a lover. In Dark a Pureblood society it was seen as extremely intimate to touch another physically, especially in front of others. Lucius pushed his nerves and suspicions down. It was likely just an intimidation technique.

~.~.~

Finally the date of the arrival of the delegations from the foreign Wizarding schools arrived. There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested discussing what the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang might be like. Even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. Hermine received passing marks from Snape even though they had not been speaking in their research sessions as of late. In their last meeting, Snape had assigned Hermione a potion to work on for the hospital wing. She had completed the burn solve and left without their exchanging a further word. When the bell rang early, Ron and Hermione hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall.

Hermione, was thrilled to see Ron in such an excited mood. The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. Ron, as one of the taller students, was still up on his tiptoes attempting to get the best line of sight. As he bumped from one foot to another looking over the heads of the other students his hat fell to one side. "Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron.

The professor was inspecting the line of students assembled on the steps in front of the castle. She barked out orders in the attempt to spiffy up their appearance. The students in the older years cast warming spells on their cloaks to fight the mild cold of the evening. Dusk had begun to fall and a pale, transparent moon was shining over the forest and reflecting in the lake.

"Nearly six," said Ron, checking his pocket watch and then started down the drive that led to the front gates. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?" Past the quiet chatter of the students, there was no sound of movement along the train tracks. No billowing smoke from the stack.

"I doubt it," said Hermione. She looked instead to the sky. There were numerous means of magical transportation. An international portkey would have been the most logical choice, but their assemblage in front of the castle seemed to connote a level of grandeur to come.

"How, then? Broomsticks?" Ron suggested, looking up at the starry sky with her.

"It's possible, but I suspect it will be something we have never seen before. A massive flying carpet, a ship flying through the air, a flock of pegasi…" Hermione seem to be stuck on air travel. In her defense, coming from such a long distance would be difficult if not impossible by land or sea, she reasoned internally.

Then her suspicions were justified when something large, much larger than a broomstick — or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks — was seen hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time. The gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powder- blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them.

"Right again. I have never seen a flying carriage." Ron said with a laugh and clap to hand down on her back.

Hermione stumbled forward at the force of his hand. Ron really didn't know his own strength.

The delegation from Beauxbatons Academy descended from a little gold staircase. Hermione remarked that they seemed poorly dressed for the chill in the air. They clinched their soak cloaks tightly to them. It seemed irrational that they had not brought more suitable attire. France was not so much warmer than England this time of year.

Hermione found herself losing interest quickly with the French delegation. Her eyes scanned the crowd on the Hogwarts side of the expanse. She watched the joy and excitement dance across the faces of the students. She saw the pride swelling in the chests of the teachers. As her eyes lingered on the assembled teachers she noticed the ever present scowl on Snape's face. He was not looking at the French. He was looking at the lake. She looked down his line of sight and saw that the previously clear and smooth black surface of the water was not smooth at all. There was a disturbance taking place in the center. Bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were washing onto the shore.

"The lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!" Out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor.

After a moment a pole rose from the center of the world pool. The top of the pole was capped and Ropes led down past the surface of the water. "It's a mast!" he said to Ron and Hermione. The great ship rose from the water and glided onto the shore with a bud, the plank was lowered onto the bank and the Durmstrang delegation filled down onto the solid earth.

A tall and thin man with white and gray-streaked dark brown hair and a short goatee it finished in a small curl greeted Dumbledore. Dumbledore indicated that he was the headmaster, Professor Karkaroff. Hermione allowed her mind to drift to the histories that she had read of the Dark Academy. The school was claimed for their Infosys on marshall magic, the fighting arts. It was also rumored to only except purebloods and teach primarily dark magic. She found that this was less unsettling to her as it had been when she had first read it. She had been spending too much time with Snape.

She was jostled out of her thoughts when Ron elbowed her in the ribs and pointed back at the headmasters. They have been joined by a younger figure. "Viktor, come along, into the warmth . . . you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold. . . ." Karkaroff beckoned to the boy with a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows and hair.

"Hermione! Do you know who that is?— it's Krum! Viktor Krum!" Ron hissed in her ear. She knew she had seen the face before, Ron even had an action figure of the slightly older boy. She had of course seen him at the Quidditch World Cup, but she would've been unlikely to have been able to recognize him out of context.

In the great hall as everyone filed in and found their seats for the feast, Krum was the beaconed by every table as excited boys attempted to get his attention and lure him to sit next to them. "Over here! Come and sit over here!" Ron hissed as he came closer to their table. "Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space —"

"What?" Hermione asked indignantly. Of all the goal! She was a real person, she was a real Gryffindor! She had every right to sit precisely where she liked at her table. What? Was she really so easily cast aside for some overgrown oaf on a broomstick that could do some silly trick?

"Too late," said Ron bitterly.

Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table. Hermione thought Ron deserved it. And so did the Slytherins. She had noticed that they had likely lobbied the least for the boy's attentions. Instead, they had offered seats to the dorm string students your regardless of fame by politely making room for them at their table. Hermione saw the interaction differently than Ron might have. These pureblood dark wizards had not chosen a rival house to sit with, they had chosen the table with students from a similar cultural background to themselves. It was common knowledge that Slytherin students were predominantly from dark houses. It was only logical that they sit with the people they would recognize as familiar.

Hermione looked up to the head table and saw that Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons Headmistress.

After the meal was over the headmaster announced the beginning of the tournament and the use of an age line around the goblet of fire, the impartial judge that would choose the champion from each school. The next several days were filled with hijinks as students attempted to fool the age line. At one point, Fred and George sported long beards as white as Dumbledore's.

~.~.~

Hermione was stirring a pot of purple wort cream in the potions classroom while Snape marked first-year papers viciously. "This one, Mr. Klempt, just copied the textbook verbatim! BUT at least he isn't as bad as Miss Weathers she went through all the effort of researching a different text on the properties of boomslang skin just to copy THAT one. It's like they think I can't tell that it wasn't written by an eleven-year-old." Snape vented to the air. He didn't expect an answer. Hermione had not been speaking more than absolutely necessary as of late. He had informed her that rewording the ideas of others was just as much plagiarism as memorizing the textbook and regurgitating it in class. She had deserved it. She had laughed at his ranting as though she thought herself better than the first years. Her form of cheating was more sophisticated but it skirted the act of thinking just as much.

They worked in their odd semi-silence until Hermione asked, "Professor?… You said… A while back you said that you didn't fight for the dark or the light. You fought for Harry. And then...You said that Harry's mother was your best friend in childhood. Did you?… Did you love her?"

The question had come out of nowhere. Snape considered ignoring it. He considered informing her that it was none of her business. He had settled on telling her off when he looked up from his papers and saw her stirring the potion in perfect rhythmic figure eights. He couldn't. "Yes," he heard himself say.

"Did the two of you? Did you ever…" Hermione asked, her words trailing off as she searched for the polite way to probe into her professor's private life.

Snape rolled his eyes at her attempt to politely invade his privacy as if she hadn't already inserted herself enough into his once quiet life. "If you are asking if I ever courted her openly, I would have to say no."

Hermione stirred her potion for a few minutes in silence as she thought. "But if you loved her…" she asked breaking down. She was plagued by her curiosity.

Severus gave a student a T in red ink with no further explanation. The student didn't need it. He should know full well that he was cheating. It wasn't Severus's job to tell him what he already knew. Without looking up he replied, "It would have been irrelevant. She was a Muggle-born." He said it offhandedly but in thinking after it crossed his lips, he wondered why he was answering her incessant questionings at all.

This time, she didn't hesitate before jumping right to the next personal question. Why shouldn't she? After all, he had opened himself up by answering the last question. "But she was a friend of yours from childhood… You grew up in the muggle world?" She asked.

"I am a Half-blood." He said as though this was all the explanation she should require.

And yet, she had a follow-up question. "Isn't that a bit hypocritical? To dismiss someone you love simply because of their blood status?" Hermione asked. 'When you yourself are less than pure,' the words hung in the air unsaid.

Severus put down his quill in the stand on his desk next to his jar of red ink. He looked at her for a moment before answering. Why did she want to know? What useful information could she gain from this? She was meant to be searching for Harry Potter and instead she was searching for answers in his personal life? If nothing else if would keep her distracted. He gave in. The information was useless anyways. Who could she tell? Who would believe her in the Dark and who would care in the Light? "Not at all. My mother was shunned by her family not only because of the blood status of my father. He was abusive. He hit her. He hit her so hard I thought he was trying to beat the magic out of her. He hated her. She wouldn't leave him. She should have, but she never did. She died from complications from her injuries that he inflicted. Her family didn't want to enable her self-destructive behavior. When she refused their help, refused to leave him, they disowned her in the hopes that she would return to them one day of her own convictions. She never did." He said simply.

She was silent for a long while. "So… You hate all muggles and muggle-borns because of your muggle father?" She asked completely missing the point.

"Not at all." He said smoothly.

"I don't understand." She acknowledged.

"My mother had difficulties with her family before my father struck her for the first time. My mother was shunned because she was a Prince and she married outside of her class. She would have been equally shunned if she had married virtually anyone else. Our family can, by tradition, only marry others of our class." Snape explained.

Hermione looked more confused than ever. "I'm sorry, Professor, but you're not making any sense. She was a Prince?" She asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. All that time in the library and the girl never attempted to learn about the great houses of Europe? "My house is Prince… If I were to take my mother's that is. If you trace our family history back, we come from a line of Priests from the High Temple. We got the name Prince because we were an offshoot of the original royal family of the Dark. Of the first king." Snape explained.

"King? Wizards don't have Kings. I read that in the Bagshot's History of Ancient Wizard in Europe." Hermione said shaking her head.

"What did I teach you about books written by light wizards?" He raised an eyebrow and gave her a skeptical look. "Light wizards do not have Kings. Dark wizards do. Light wizards do not have priests. Dark wizards do." Snape corrected her.

"So you can only marry someone within your own family?" Hermione asked wrinkling up her nose at the idea of incest.

Snape rolled his eyes again. "Of course not. Over the last 3000 years, the gene pool has grown immensely. Magic even provides the occasional natural priest or priestess." He explained.

"What differentiates a priest or priestess from a natural priest?" Hermione asked.

"Naturals are raw, born from long lines of squibs." They often think they are muggle borns."

~.~.~

Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Hermione didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as she would have normally. Looking lazily around the room, she noticed that her disinterested pushing of her food around her plate was mirrored by many of the girls. The boys, on the other hand, seemed to be all eagerly scarfing down everything they could reach. Boys. She looked to her side and saw Ron shoving a roll in his mouth, not stopping for a second as he chatted eagerly with the twins about who the champions might be. Hermione simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions so that she could get on with her day. She had a four-foot scroll due in arithmancy the next morning and she wanted to get to the library.

She looked up at the head table and saw that Snape was eating a light meal of tuna steak and a couscous salad. She wondered if he had asked for it specially. Neither of those items appeared to be in front of him on the head table. Snape was nodding his head every so often as Professor Sinistra chatted away at him. Hermione noticed that she too had barely touched her meal.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock as the elegant witch placed her hand on the potions master's hand. She smiled softly to herself when Snape snatched his hand away quickly and picked up his goblet to cover the rude action.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. Snape was possibly the only other member of the head table that shared his expression.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicated the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. . . . A few people kept checking their watches. Hermione found herself caught up in the anticipation as well. She wondered who's name would come out as Hogwarts champion.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white. "The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Hermione smiled at him graciously.

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. The second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. "The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms. She smiled to herself. Served them right. They had been prancing around the castle all week like they thought they were the greatest thing since self-supplying kitchen cupboards and that Hogwarts was beneath them. At least that Fleur witch seemed to have a decent head on her shoulders. Hermione had seen her dueling with another student in a practice session near the carriages over the weekend. She had taken her opponent down quickly and effortlessly with a clever use of transfiguration. Hermione had been impressed but not nearly as impressed as the Beauxbatons Headmistress. It was clear who her favorite was.

She wondered if Dumbledore had had to choose a delegation of students to visit one of the other schools whom he might have chosen. She realized that she likely did not pay enough attention to the upper classmen. She knew of course who what at the top of their own year, but the upperclassmen simply didn't interact with them much save Fred and George.

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip, Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. "The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

"No!" said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Hermione; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real way."

~.~.~

Hermione could not have imagined herself angrier than she felt at that moment. She had received a P on her paper on Confusing Concoctions. She had assumed that it had been busy work at best. The potions were not particularly difficult and she had even wondered why Professor Snape had bothered to assign them homework on them. Nevertheless, she had written 3 feet on the subject referencing multiple different sources. And the man had the gall to give her a P!

She violently opened the door to the potions classroom Wednesday evening allowing it to slam across the Stonewall and bounce back towards her. The door shut so loudly she thought it would clatter off its hinges. Rather than blush at her uncharacteristic attempt at property damage, she shook her wild head of curls and marched authoritatively towards the black robe class professor who had not even given her the courtesy of looking up at her noisy entrance. "A P?!" She screeched slamming the scroll down on his desk and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes. Congratulations, you are capable of reading a singular letter. A P, Miss Granger." The professor said not looking up from his markings. She did not know if he was doing it on purpose, but she became more enraged when she saw him give an E to the less than 2-foot long scroll in front of him.

"It was a blow off assignment! I referenced five sources! I wrote 3 feet on A throwaway subject. A second year could make this potion, but I put in the effort of writing a real paper on it. I assume you had a reason for assigning it, so I put in the work and you give me a P!" Hermione ranted.

"I gave you a P, as is my prerogative because you have not been listening. Your scroll shows that in spades." The professor said in a calm and controlled voice.

"This is ridiculous! I always listening class, I take more notes during your lectures than any other student! Your precious Slytherins included." Hermione spat.

"It is not my lectures in which you have ignored my teachings, it is in these sessions. How many times have I told you not to plagiarize? How many times have you overheard me ranting in frustration while I mark papers?" Severus said, anger rising in his voice.

"I did not plagiarize!" Hermione screeched.

"Those five sources you mentioned: You re-worded their hypotheses, but you did not expand upon them. You did not bring any original thought to the subject." Severus explained.

Hermione looked like steam was going to come out of her ears any moment. Her face was red and she could not form the words to retort she was so enraged.

"Everyone is always treating you as though you are more intelligent than your peers. Let me correct that misconception, you are not. You work a little harder, you pay more attention, and you cheat time. This does not make you more intelligent simply more ambitious, more obsessed with proving yourself. You stand out because of the contrast you create between yourself and your house. If you had been placed in Ravenclaw you would stand out as being brash, reckless, and pigheaded, not for being more intelligent than your peers." Snape went on to say.

"I wrote more, I referenced more sources, I put in more effort than anyone else on that paper. I saw what you gave Ron. He did little more than copy my notes into paragraphs!" She fumed. Then, upon realizing that she just admitted to helping another student cheat off of her work she slapped her hand over her mouth.

"Put your hand down you silly girl. Do you honestly think I couldn't tell that Mr. Weasley has been working off of your notes for the past three years?" Severus said standing up. "Mr. Weasley is not a great mind of his generation. He has never claimed to be, nor sought that title. He has performed adequate work and will likely leave my class the moment he can. I intend to pass him along so that I might not be forced to have him repeat a year."

"That isn't fair! You gave him and E when you know he did not deserve it. He couldn't have if you gave me a P for vastly superior work." Hermione reasoned. Her hand was on her hip and her eyes were like daggers.

"E stands for exceeds expectations. Mr. Weasley vastly exceeded my expectations in that paper. Instead of simply copying your notes he re-worded them and put them into his own style as though he actually thought about what he was reading. That showed that he may have at least considered learning something from the assignment. As I say, vastly more than I expected from him. You say that it did occur to you that I gave you the assignment for a reason. Here it is: when you revisit work from the previous year, simple work, you are meant to reflect upon not only that work but the more complex work you have become accustomed to performing. You can draw inferences from different potion making the procedures and speculate on improvements to the base potion. This is the level of thought I was looking for from you. I did not find it in your work. A student is not graded in comparison to her peers, only in comparison to herself. My job is not to fail a quarter of the students while putting another quarter of the students up on a pedestal for their 'superior' work. My job is to teach them something. I am attempting to teach YOU to THINK." Snape said in a deadly quiet voice with great emphasis on the last two words as his voice rose.

Hermione gulped. He was right, of course. She had not put that level of consideration into her scroll. It had not even occurred to her. The books that she had referenced dealt with the effects of the standard potion, Not theories on changing it, improving it, experimenting with it. But… Snape had never instructed her to take that level of critical thought to the paper. All he had said was to write a one-foot paper. "Sir, that was not the assignment. The assignment was simply to write a one-foot paper, not to hypothesize new ways to improve upon the standard potion."

Severus hung his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. "Like I say, a student is not compared to his peers. Your assignment should have been inferred to be different than Mr. Weasley's."

Hermione simply stared at the man blinking. How could he really expect her to guess what he meant if he wasn't willing to say it?

"I expect you to understand from now on the level of work that is expected of you. I will remind you yet again that you are a full year older than your peers, whether they know it or not. I assure you that your next grade will be a lot lower than a P if you hand in this level of work again." Severus explained. "Now, kindly get out of my classroom."

~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! It really means a lot to me. I had a lot of fun writing the P incident. I hope you all liked it.
> 
> I need to ask for some help. I need a sub plot to help move the story along at Hogwarts. I have several things that are going on to progress the relationships and develop the characters but I need something with some action! Any suggestions? Silly or serious, I'll take anything. Please help!


	10. Vampires/ The Dark Lord's Secrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is wrong with the Dark Lord.

Harry was excited, lessons were progressing in his Dark Creature History class. It was finally the sixth week and the class was going to visit Rackul's underground city. He refused to tell them where exactly it was, for security reasons. That only made the students more excited for the trip. Harry was excited because the trip was an excused absence for the whole day and he wouldn't be using his time turner. In contrast to one of his typical days, the eight hours in a cave was going to feel like a vacation.

Instead of meeting in the classroom the class assembled on the beach on that cold October morning. They were taking the ship to the docks and then using a portkey to reach the city. Harry cast a warming charm over his fur lined scarlet cloak. It was always freezing at Durmstrang. He thought he might only still be alive by his skill at warming charms. Something he had gotten quite good at in the last month or so. He was on the ship with his classmates rocking from side to side in his cabin. When the ship hit the rocky coast line he stood up to make his way off the ship. He immediately collapsed back into the seat. His forehead had erupted in pain. His hands clenched at his invisible scar. He thought he could feel blood making his fingers slick against his skin. He couldn't see. His eyes were shut so tight he was in a blinding light. He couldn't hear. All he could do was feel. He mentally screamed, "STOP!"

The pain continued for only a second longer and then abruptly stopped. Harry quickly remembered his Occlumency training and slammed his mental shields up. He had let his mind drift. He hadn't been concentrating on protecting himself. He knew that this was his connection with the Dark Lord. Sirius had warned him. This didn't feel like the dreams. Sometimes he dreamt and saw through the Dark Lord's eyes. Sometimes he felt anger or joy. This was different. This was just searing white pain. Harry pulled out his mirror, "Sirius!" He screamed into it. He waited. And waited.

Finally, a shirtless and wet Sirius Black popped into view. "Hey Pup, what's up?" He said looking concerned. He had obviously just stepped out of the shower.

Harry realize that he didn't know what was wrong. He didn't know how to explain. Then he just opened his mouth and the word started tumbling out, "You have to help him! Something's wrong! He's in so much pain!"

Sirius was truly concerned now. Then realizations struck across his face. "The Dark Lord? Do you know where he is?"

Harry shook his still ringing head, "No, I couldn't see anything, I just felt pain."

"Thank you, I'll take care of this, I'll let you know how it goes." Sirius said. Harry could see him pulling on clothes as he talked into the mirror. "Everything is going to be OK. He'll be fine." Then the mirror went black.

Harry didn't know why he felt so much relief. Why should he care that the stranger on the other end of his mental connection was in pain? But he did. He wanted the pain to stop. Not just for him but for the Dark Lord too.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Sirius Black ran. He ran down the stairs, he ran down the hall, he ran to the entrance hall, and he ran to the fireplace. He threw a handful of flue powder into the flames and bellowed, "Malfoy!"

The blonde patrician's face emerged in the coals. "Black?"

"No time to explain, let me through immediately!" Sirius knew that the Dark Lord had a high probability of being one of two places, his own manner back in England, or in France with Lucius. Lucius allowed him through. He's stepped aside as Black emerged from the flames. "Is HE here?"

"What is the meaning of this? Why are you barging into my home? I was in the middle of a fire call with the goblins." Lucius huffed.

"Is. The. Dark. Lord. Here." Sirius bit out.

"Yes, in his chambers in the East wing. But that doesn't explain why you are here. What could possibly be so important that you interrupt me on my very important fire call?"

"Follow me if you have to, but I don't have time for this." Sirius through over his shoulder as he ran down the hallways of the Malfoy château.

Lucius followed behind him at a brisk walk. It was improper for a pureblood to run full out inside a house. Sirius pulled out his wand and used a point me spell that produced a small ball of light for him to follow that would lead him to the Dark Lord. When it stopped in front of a door, Black blasted it off of it's hinges. Inside the room was the 17-year-old leader of the Dark. He was crumpled on the ground like a broken doll. He was sobbing in pain.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lucius knelt down beside the 17-year-old form of the Dark Lord, wondering what happened to him. The Dark Lord had never shown such vulnerability. To the best of his recollection he had never even been ill. Now, here he was in a heap on the floor screaming in pain between intermittent choking sobs. His tears had turned into blood. Red streaks ran down his pale face. Lucius and Sirius managed to dump enough pain potions down the teenagers throat to get him coherent again.

"S-Severus" The boy said weekly.

~.~.~  
That weekend Snape was looking forward to his very first opportunity to stay at the castle during his precious few days off from the dunderheads he was forced to educate. Well it was his second opportunity but Dumbledore has ruined last weekend with an impromptu visit and interrogation session on his and Granger's progress on Project: Find Potter. The man was insufferable.  
Still this was his first weekend alone and he wasn't going to waste it. Over the past several weekends he had been working with Black to build up Harry's mental defenses. The work was going very slowly. The boy was too emotional. Snape did have to admit that they had started making progress after the boy had begun lessons at Durmstrang with a private tutor in Occlumency. It was far less than fair to have Harry begin his lessons in the art with Snape. He was very highly skilled and it was inconceivable that the boy would be able to throw off his mental advances.

Last weekend the Dark Lord had sent Harry to Lucius for etiquette and Wizarding House lessons. Snape wondered what exactly Malfoy was being punished for. This weekend, instead of training with Snape, Harry would be training with the Dark Lord himself for the first time. Morgana help him.

Snape wondered if he would be able to spend the entire weekend alone with his most favorite companion, firewhiskey. Somehow, he doubted it. He was sure that his least favorite student, one bushy-haired Gryffindor, Would be waltzing in his classroom despite the fact they did not have sessions on the weekends.

Sure enough, that Friday evening he emerged into his classroom to grade the papers that were due back to the students on Monday to find the Gryffindor scribbling on a scroll behind a large stack of books at one of the student tables. He had come there with the goal of finishing his markings early so that he might enjoy a blissful 48 hours alone in his chambers in a drunken stupor. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered assigning so much homework. It was just more work for him to do after all. The truth was that although he hated teaching, he hated the idea of doing a disservice to the school even more. The school barely trained the students as it was, he did not wish to contribute to their shared incompetence.

Without a word to the girl nor a look, he sat down behind his desk and started grading papers. Perhaps if he ignored her long enough she would go away in silence just as she had come.

Did she come to his classroom to work often when he wasn't there? This was the first weekend that he had been able to remain at the castle. Was she always to be found there whether he was or not? If so, why? There were plenty of empty classrooms that she could hide in to study, not to mention the library. Why his classroom? She wasn't even working on potions. He knew that she wasn't because he had seen her finish her assignment on Thursday evening, precisely 6 hours after it had been assigned. So why was she here?

He didn't want to risk asking her. That would lead to conversation and her conversations were more probing these days than ever.

It was as though she could hear the thoughts in his head like a prompt because not a moment later she said, "Why did you become a Death Eater and then a spy?"

There was a long silence. She had successfully gotten him to answer a multitude of questions, but this one was definitely crossing whatever line she had been walking up to. What an incredibly rude question to ask. One might have expected her to inquire as to how his weekend was going or... anything else.

Hermione was shocked when the potions professor answered. "I was young, arrogant, and stupid. While it was obvious I had promise at Potions, no one paid it much attention," Severus began.  
"You mean that you never got the kind of attention you wanted, your father..." Hermione said softly.

"Yes. I was desperate to prove myself. The Dark Lord, I believed, would provide me with what I wanted. A way back to the traditions of my family, my people. A way to connect with my forgotten past in a way that Hogwarts alone never could provide. It obviously wasn't what I thought. I wanted a brotherhood of learning and cultural emersion. What I got was a place as a faceless member of an army on its way to war. I went to the headmaster. I wanted out, but I did not want to go to Azkaban. I didn't know how to be Dark and not be a soldier. I wasn't light, but I was a half-blood and the headmaster loved half-bloods and muggle borns. Dumbledore kept me out of prison and I became a spy, a position I still hold," Severus explained.

"You don't deserve Azkaban," Hermione said quietly. "I don't care what you've done for the Dark. You were at war. You were following orders. You don't deserve that place."

That was rich. She had no idea what he had done. The Dark Lord was not nearly as sane then as he was not. He was almost as much of a monster as the Prophet had made him out to be. Everything was an honorable end justifying a horrific means. If you could eliminate one or two Aurors with dark blood on their hands, why not let a Giant rampage through muggle London? She had no idea what she was forgiving him for. How could she? She had not even been born yet. He had participated in countless raids, murders, kidnappings before he had run to Dumbledore with the tale of his betrayal of Lily Evans on his lips. "How did you know I was a spy?" Severus asked. It would not have been hard to guess, but he didn't think that he had explicitly told the witch.

"Dumbledore." She said simply.

"Of course our esteemed headmaster would think it appropriate to give information that could cost me my life to a child," Severus said to the ceiling.

"It is a little obvious." Hermione pointed out. "Everyone seems to trust you but only to a point. You are from a dark family but you teach here and Dumbledore seems to trust you implicitly."  
"I could just be unlikeable," Snape offered.

Hermione giggled. "Oh you definitely are, but that wouldn't explain the headmaster."

Snape screwed up his face. "Of course it would. The headmaster likes everyone."

Just then they were interrupted by a house elf popping into the air between them. "Begging your pardon, Sirs, but Master Snape is having a fire call." And then, just as quickly as the creature had appeared, it vanished.

"Excuse me, Miss Granger, this shouldn't take long. Please start on the Dreamless Sleep prep work and I will be back to inspect your cuttings." Severus said as he briskly walked towards a door behind his desk.

The door led to his office when he needed his office, and his chambers when he needed his chambers. He loved magic. Stepping through the threshold into his private rooms three stories down he found his fire alight. In the coals was the face of Sirius Black, escaped convict and kidnapper of the-boy-who-lived. "What do you want, Black?" He snapped.

"HE needs you, NOW," Sirius said.

"He will have to wait, I am in the middle of something," Snape replied thinking Black was referring to Harry.

"Leave your grading for tomorrow, this is life or death," Sirius said with a growl.

"Fine, get out of the fire and I will come through," Severus replied.

When the flames had returned to their former dogless state, Severus threw a handful of floo powder into the hearth and stepped into the green flames to France. The floo connection was illegal in a multitude of ways, but as the headmaster didn't technically acknowledge to the authorities that Severus had a fireplace with access to the floo network, it was never monitored.

He was greeted by an angry and erratic Sirius Black who promptly grabbed his wrist and started dragging him across the manor. When they reached their destination it was to find Lucius kneeling down beside the 17-year-old form of the Dark Lord. His body was in a heap on the floor screaming in pain between intermittent choking sobs. His tears were trails of blood running down his face.

"I have to go back. I need my potions. You never said-" Severus started.

"There wasn't time. There isn't time." Lucius mumbled.

Severus ran as fast as he could back down the stairs to the receiving hall and flooed back to Hogwarts. He crashed back into his classroom, running past a bewildered Hermione and into the potions cupboard. Severus grabbed two of every potion in his stock room and ran to the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was able to go through the floo network, but the fire could cause funny things to happen to some of these potions and he couldn't afford to make a mistake.  
As soon as he got beyond the gates he pulled out his wand and touched it to his Dark Mark. In a dark gray funnel of smoke, he was gone. The Dark Mark was a unique and tricky piece of magic. It allowed the user to get behind any ward as long as the master was there. When activated by a servant mark it took the servant directly to the master regardless of most magical barriers.

The familiar cloud of gray smoke appeared in the room a few feet away from the Dark Lord and out of it stepped the potions master.

"My Lord! What happened?" Severus gasped in shock.

"He was working on a new spell that didn't go so well." Lucius supplied quickly. "When we found him he was incoherent, the pain must be overwhelming."

The potions master took out his wand and ran over the Dark Lord's body. Ruins appeared to float in the air above him. "Yes, it appears he is still a great deal of pain," Severus said pulling out a number of potions from his bag. "I want to put him under the draft of living death for the night. This is beyond dreamless sleep. It will freeze his body while I work. He has undergone significant strain to his mind and his magical core. We are lucky that his mind appears intact. His magical core, however, is fluctuating."  
"Do you see risk to his magic?" Lucius asked wanting to know the worst-case scenario. Having a leader with diminished magical ability could mean the war.

"Things would be much simpler if that were the case. His magic levels are high, not low. His magic appears to be expanding and contracting within his body. If it continues, it will rip the body apart." Severus looked down at his master, "If I may be so bold sir, you would be better off to leave spell creation for after we win the war." He knew the moment it left his lips that he shouldn't have said it. It was cruel and unnecessary. The implication that they only needed him to win the war and not after… If the Dark Lord were at his full strength, he would be Crucio-ed into oblivion.

Lucius raised an eyebrow and gave a look towards Sirius. With a small nod from Sirius, they silently made their exit, leaving the potions master with his patient.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Sirius threw up a privacy charm and anti-eavesdropping barrier. "Malfoy, that was a boldfaced lie and you know it. You have no idea what caused this."

"True, but it was a necessary lie. I still don't know if we can trust Severus with many of our truths. Especially not something the sensitive." Lucius said.

They stared at each other for a long moment, each searching the other face to see if the other new what they themselves knew. When staring didn't lead to very many answers, Sirius got frustrated, broke down and said, "What do you know?"

Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow, "What do you know?"

Sirius rolled his eyes, "More than the Dark Lord himself."

"Blood seer, right." Lucius half mumbled to himself and then said, "Fine, a different question. How did you know that he was in danger?"

Sirius gave a smug smile, "Harry."

"So, they do have a connection. The Dark Lord has suspected something for a while now." Lucius said.

"An effect of the rebounted spell. But, you answered my question with your answer. The Dark Lord knew about their connection last time. If he doesn't know this time then it's not the same Dark Lord. What do we have this time?"

"He is very much the same Dark Lord. He is just a bit… Younger."

"So, you're telling me... Wait! The diary in Harry's second year?! That worked! Harry said everyone assumed it would just fade off. It was just … What?… an incorporeal manifestation?… A memory?… Are you telling me?" He pointed back towards the Dark Lord's chambers, "That we have been following the orders of a memory left behind by a 16-year-old boy?!" Lucius nodded gravely, "and, he has no memory of the last war?!" Lucius confirmed with another nod. "He is your puppet! You've just been feeding everything to him!… No one chose you! No one wanted to follow you! How did you possibly think this could work!?"

"I am not his puppet master! He is extremely intelligent, extremely powerful, and has a brilliant mind for strategy. He is the same person my father chose to follow 50 years ago! He just lacks a few of the details. I have just been… filling in the gaps." Lucius reasoned. His face was grave when he said, "He's all we have. We need a strong figurehead to give us hope that the world can change, that we can be accepted and live in peace, unsuppressed and free."

Sirius' anger settled at this reminder, "We need this."

Lucius nodded, and placed his hand on the door to re-enter the Dark Lords rooms, but before he pulled the knob he turned to Sirius, "This isn't over, I will ask again about Harry's connection, you are keeping secrets from the Dark Lord." With that he opened the door and went back to his master.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry was nervous, Sirius had called back and said that they had gotten the Dark Lord stabilized, but he was still worried. He found it hard to concentrate as he toured the caves with his classmates.

The professor was leading them on a comically stereotypical tourist tour, Walkingstick with the pendant and everything so they didn't lose sight of him. As he walked through the cave he pointed out the different ancient buildings built into the side of the cave walls. The students were mesmerized, they had never having seen something quite as beautiful as the buildings of perfectly engineered stalactites and stalagmites.

Maybe he would open his mind and check? If there was still a lot of pain he would just block it out again. He concentrated on bring down his shield. He imagined a great wall around his mind being deconstructed brick by brick.

The professor was explaining about some large building to his right and it's history as a legislative center for the clan. The class was enamored with the charismatic professor as he told an antidote about a vampire that had once been excluded for a meeting and had claimed to the top story of the building to listen in. He had fallen asleep and fell through the window he was listening at startling the assembled vampires in the middle of a vote.

The pain was gone. Harry pushed farther on his link to the Dark Lord. Where he typically felt a presence that he tried to stay away from at all cost, he felt nothing. He was getting more and more worried. Why couldn't he feel the Dark Lord? Even when his mind was at rest in sleep he could still feel emotions seeping through.

He closed his eyes and pushed through the connection into the space beyond. He had never gone this far through the link. Something inside him was telling him to make completely sure that the Dark Lord was going to be alright. He felt like he was going down a long dark tunnel, he could almost make out the concept of a red light at the end of it. He kept waiting to get caught, waiting for his mind to be bombarded with images alien to him, or a wave of emotion not his own. Instead there was nothing. Not a fleeting thought nor a imagined image, there was nothing. His mind drifted in the void of the others. What had happened? This was wrong. Where was the Dark Lord?

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry had woken up ten minutes ago in a large and luxurious bed under a fluffy silk duvet. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. The last thing he could remember was that he had been touring the caves with his classmates and then he had woken up here in this candle lit room. He must still be in the underground city; the walls looked damp and seemed to be made of stalactites and stalagmites interlacing into a woven pattern. The candle light bounced off the wet surfaces illuminating the room.

There was a polite knock on the door preceding a voice asking, "Mr Black? Are you awake?" The voice was female and Harry didn't recognize it.

Harry opened his mouth, but found it difficult to form a response, he cleared his throat and said, "Yes"

There was a pause before the voice replied, "May I come in?"

Harry was bewildered, "um...sure?"

The door creaked open and a stunningly beautiful female vampire with dark auburn hair cut short to right below her ears stepped through into the room. "Mr. Black, it's wonderful to see you awake. How do you feel?"

"Fine...I guess… What happened?" Harry said still a bit disoriented.

The elegant vampire closed the door behind her and walked towards the chair in the corner of the room. "You were touring the caves with your professor when you suddenly collapsed. That was three days ago." She said sitting down in the plush velvet armchair.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Three days? He thought back as hard as he could desperately trying to remember touring the caves and what might've happened. Then he remembered. The Dark Lord! He had been checking the link that he had mentally with the Dark Lord! It had caused him to pass out? For three days!? "Do you know why?" Harry asked not wanting to reveal more than he should.

"That is what is quite peculiar. Our scans indicated that you were in a sort of stasis, as though you had drunk the draft of living death potion. Your mind was almost entirely shut down. Yet there was none found in your blood." She said by way of explanation. She gave him a questioning look, obviously hoping that he had answers for her as well.

Harry had no answers. He looked around the room. "Where am I?" He coughed. "I mean… I know I must still be in the underground city, but who are you? Is this your house?"

"My name is Racquel, I am your professor's mother. You are in my home." She said, brushing out her long dress over her knee, smoothing out the wrinkles. She was a beautiful woman, with a kind face, but her mannerisms made her appear severe.

"Has anyone contacted my uncle? He'll want to know I'm all right. I usually check in with him…" Harry said, and then he remembered the mirror in his pocket. He pulled it out.

"I'm sorry, we do not have a connection to the Wizarding floo network, nor do we use owls to deliver messages" She smiled sadly, "I believe my son might have contacted your uncle when he got back to the school. He had to return with the other children, but you were not in a condition to move."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Would you mind giving me the room for a moment? I have a looking glass; I'd like to call my father."

She nodded currently and stood to leave. As soon as the door closed Harry pulled out the mirror and yelled, "Sirius!"

This time it only took a few seconds for the elder Black to answer, "Harry! Are you alright?! Your professor said you got I'll on your school trip."

"I'm fine. I passed out, but I think I know why. Is the Dark Lord ok?" Harry asked quickly. When he pushed on the link he remembered feeling a deep nothingness. Was the Dark Lord dead?

"He's fine. Snape had him under the draft of living death to settle his core, he- he actually just- woke up..." Sirius said putting the pieces together. "What were you doing when you passed out?"

"Taking a tour of the caves..." Harry said sheepishly.

"Nothing else? Your occlumency shields were up?"

"well, no" Harry said in a small voice

"Damn it Harry! You have to keep your shields up! Aren't they teaching you occlumency at that school?" Sirius roared.

"I didn't know I could get hurt! I just wanted to see if he was ok!" Harry yelled back.

"He's fine. I told you he was fine!" Sirius said exasperated.

Harry blushed and said in a small voice, "I just wanted to check..."

Sirius took a deep calming breath. He was still angry. He tried again. "I'm not mad, I just don't want you putting yourself in harm's way."

The pair struggled their way through the rest of the their first father/son fight. Afterwards Racquel came back in and said that she had asked Rackul to come back to take Harry back to school.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Harry waited in the lavish room for a few hours more before Rackul came to collect him. He spent time studying his surroundings. He was in a stone bed, with what felt like a goose down mattress and linen sheets. It was remarkably comfortable. The room had two wooden dressers, a writing desk, and a small table with two chairs and a chess set. There were no rugs on the floor, no drapes on the open windows. Yet somehow the space felt opulent. The windows were a swirl of marbled glass. The floors were a herringbone pattern of beautiful glasswork tile in soft whites and creams. Along the walls silver sconces held candles.

Harry heard a knock on the door again. This time the familiar voice of his professor called out, "Harry? I have come to take you back to school."

Harry stood from the bed, he had dressed hours ago and made the bed, he had merely been sitting on it waiting and thinking. "Come in Professor"

The roguish prince enter the room, "I don't have to tell you that you gave us quite a fright young Mr. Black. You will be going to the school MediWizards after this. However, it seems a shame that you're all the way out here and never got a proper tour or to meet anyone. My mother said she stopped in a while ago that's not proper meeting. Would you like to look around? How are you feeling? Do you feel up to it?" He rambled.

Rackul never rambled. Perhaps this was an experience we hadn't had yet. Seemed almost impossible that Harry could contribute to any new experiences for the ancient vampire. Then again, how often do students collapse for three days while visiting his hometown? "I would love to have a proper look around, thank you" and then asked, "Your mother? She's like a queen right? She said this was her house?

"Correct, this is the Royal Apartments of the palace. The Royal family used to inhabit the entirety of the palace until my father decided it was an unsustainable arrangement. In an underground city there is always a lack of space. In the 1300s he moved the majority of the governing offices into the palace itself." He explained opening the door for Harry and walking out into the hall. The professor pointed out different portraits and introduce Harry as he went. The portraits were a mixed bag, several of the newer portraits smiled and welcomed him while many of the older portraits seemed rather upset that a human wizard was in the Royal Palace at all. Rackul explained that there was great distrust of wizards in his clan's past. Wizards and vampires often clashed in wars and his people had suffered a great deal of persecution at the end of a wand. Even today, he explained, many of the elders of the clan disapproved of Rackul's choice of profession.

Rackul introduced Harry to his father when they passed by his office. Harry remarked that he was surprised at the efficient and utilitarian appearance of the offices. He had come to believe that vampires were by nature the epitome of extravagance. The king had chuckled and explained that it was common to acquire many beautiful things over the course of the very long lifetime, but that didn't mean that vampires were magpies by nature. They simply had a longer future to plan for and thus took better care of their possessions leading to homes filled with beautiful antiques rather quickly.

Harry toured the village and found himself surprised that there were small shops and businesses. Somehow seeing elegant ancient vampires in menial service positions seemed very odd to him. When they finish their tour Rackul used a portkey to take them back to the shoreline. The boat was waiting for them. Harry spent the voyage back talking to Rackul excitedly about the underground city. He thanked him profusely for taking him around.

Rackul chuckled and said, "You have missed three days, that means you have missed my class once again. Would you like to ask me questions about werewolves now? You have missed our guest speaker."

Harry had to fight his natural instinct to explain that he had had a werewolf professor last year. It was difficult to constantly remember that his past was not one to be shared. Harold Black had spent last year in a small village school, not at Hogwarts in England. Harry asked all the questions that he wished he could have asked Remus. While they talked part of Harry was wondering if his father had ever reconnected with his school friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think?


	11. Chapter 11: Zabini, Krum, and Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zabini has something to tell Hermione, Krum makes a move. Remus leaves the pack to find a new home with Sirius.

Snape watched as the long elegant blonde hair of Lucius Malfoy followed behind the shaggy black haired form of Black. He shook his head. It was obvious that they were leaving to speak about something to which he was not meant to be privy. If they were withholding information about the Dark Lord's condition, that could be a very grave decision indeed. Severus assumed that they were arguing over something. He couldn't see them or hear them, but the two were for all intents and purposes running things while the Dark Lord sat behind the scenes. They had not known each other well in the past for it would've been impossible for them to have been anything other than mild acquaintances. Black’s role was extremely secretive as most spies’ rolls and true alliances were. 

How strange it must be for the two of them to be working so closely together now. How much power must Black now possess as one of the few full-time death eaters and seemingly close confidants of the Dark Lord?

Severus cleared those thoughts from his mind as he started meticulously organizing his potions in front of him. He checked the Dark Lords teenage wrist for a pulse and thought that it was very low. He swept his wand over his chest and symbols started flashing in the air above the body. They were vital readings on his magical core. It didn't make any sense. What could he possibly have been working on that could have dropped his core levels this low? It was as though his magic had been strained from constant use for days and days on end. 

Severus poured a revitalizer into the boy's mouth and massaged his throat until he had swallowed it completely. When there was no improvement after ten minutes he repeated the process. After three attempts to bring his magic up, the Dark Lord started to stabilize. His magic levels rose but only to the point of a squib, nothing near as strong as they should have been. Still, it was enough to allow Severus time to work on figuring out what was wrong with him. 

He informed Sirius, when the dog came back in the room to check on his progress, that he was stable but that he would have to remain in the castle to monitor his recovery and work on a solution. Lucius set him up on the potion’s lab and he began to experiment, all the while keeping an eye on the Dark Lord through a two-way mirror of Narcissa’s. 

He was working on a Magic infusing draft when he saw the Dark Lord stir out of the corner of his eye. The boy had woken up all on his own. Severus rushed to his side and confirmed the strange occurrence. 

“My Lord?” Severus asked helping his master to his feet and walking him experimentally around the room to test his strength.

“Thank you Severus. It appears your excellent care has revived me. You may go.” The teenage ruler of the Dark ordered. 

“Yes, my Lord…” Snape said, depositing the young man back on the bed and retreating into the hallway.

“Excellent work, Severus. I don’t know what we would have done without you.” Lucius said. He had obviously been waiting with bated breath outside the Dark Lord’s chamber door.

“It was nothing, old friend.” Severus said honestly. To himself he thought that was the most disturbing part of all of this. He had done nothing and the Dark Lord had come back from the brink of death or at least Squib-ish-ness. 

~.~.~  
The leaves fell; the air grew colder, and colder still as it rolled off of the sea bringing with it a sharp bite. The 30 or so students that were representing Durmstrang at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, left on the thirtieth of October. The remaining students seemed totally unaffected by their departure. It amazed Harry how often the headmaster seemed to pop back into the school. He could often be seen behind his great glass doors working in his office in the evenings.

Harry and Draco had spent a traditional Samhain with Anika and Gavriel. There was a great feast at the castle that night where many types of meat were served. Harry noticed that the hall was filled with more ghosts than he had seen since Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday party. Gavriel explained that the holiday was a precursor to the modern Halloween. Its association with the soles of the dead was the most prominent aspect of the day that carried over into modern practice.

Samhain marked the end of the fall/harvest season and the beginning of winter. It was traditionally a time of slaughtering livestock and the school celebrated by purchasing fresh meats from the nearby farming village. Being a school on the sea, they mostly ate fish, so the meats were a welcome change. That night they lit bonfires and danced around them. Slowly tiny airies started to appear in the flames. They danced in the fire. Gavriel explained that this was one of the few nights of the year that flame fairies became visible.

Gavriel and Anika followed Harry and Draco back to their house after the party started to die down. They spent the night giving each other card readings and predicting one another's futures. Anika brought over a basket of butter beers and a smuggled in flask of fire whiskey. None of them were gifted at all in divination, so it proved to be an amusing night.

~.~.~  
The Hufflepuffs were elated. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. Hermione could understand it. Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch. Cedric was a great choice for Hogwarts’ Champion. Hermione and Ron were re-potting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray as Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Even Professor Sprout, she was Head of Hufflepuff House, was bouncing off the walls higher than the Bouncing Balls. 

Hermione was a little less enthusiastic. “Half the Triwizard champions have died . . . “ Hermione said when Ron, who was not a fan of Digory, seemed to have gone from angry that the champion wasn’t a Gryffindor to awestruck when they passed him in the halls on their way to Potions. Ron had always been star struck. She knew that it was one of the things he had struggled with while Harry had been around. Ron worried that he only liked Harry because of his fame. Hermione had assured him that Harry knew it was more than that. She could understand why Ron looked at Cedric though. Cedric looked the part of a champion. He was tall and handsome. The perfect charismatic leader. 

It was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days, Cedric or Viktor Krum. Hermione actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum’s autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime. 

She had to admit that she was only held back from joining them by her own internal sense of pride and decorum. Hermione was a little distracted while she was practicing Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick’s class when she saw Viktor Krum practicing martial magic on the lawn with one of the other boys from Durmstrang. They had their cloaks off and at one point they had even vanished their shirts. The boys were spinning in the air shooting fireballs at one another. It looked incredibly dangerous but they seemed to know what they were doing. It was beautiful to watch. They seemed to be dancing in the air. She had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson. That was until the boys had started practicing and then she just couldn’t concentrate hard enough to get the spell to work. 

“You just weren’t concentrating properly —” Ron said reassuringly as they walked out of the classroom. 

“Wonder why that was,” said Hermione said absently as Cedric Diggory walked past, surrounded by a large group of simpering girls. 

Double Potions was always a tense experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, knowing that her every step in her potion making was going to be scrutinized later that evening was exhausting. Hermione arrived at Snape’s dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside. Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, Crab and Goyle. . . Then she noticed Blaize Zabini staring at her. 

Their eyes locked and the dark skinned boy gave her a little wink and a half smirk before turning to Pansy who had asked him a question. Hermione was shocked. She wondered if she had really seen what she thought she had seen. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. When was the last time she had slept? She would have to check her notes. Last year she had started taking detailed notes on her schedule to make sure that she didn't accidentally run into herself or forget to show up to a class. She had gotten fairly used to living the days twice but she still had to remember to force herself to take a nap. It was dangerous to run for too long without sleep but she had never been a good day sleeper and her bed was already occupied by herself at night. She had likely just been awake too long. After all, what reason would Zabini have to wink at her? 

The door to the classroom opened and they made their way into the classroom. As the students filed in Hermione found herself standing very close to Zabini as they squeezed through the doorway. She felt something drop into her cloak pocket. Her eyes widened but before she could say anything they were through the doorway and Zabini made quick work of getting to his seat next to Pansy. 

Hermione sat down next to Ron at their usual table and pulled the object out of her pocket. It was a small leather bound brown notebook. Her mind immediately shot to Ginny's Diary and she felt her blood run cold. 

“What’s that?” Ron asked seeing her puzzling over the object. “What do you need a notebook that small for? I thought you liked those big red ones from Flourish and Blotts?” Unbeknownst to Hermione, Ron was worried. He had purchased her a new set of three of her favorite notebooks for Christmas over the Summer holidays. 

“Hmm?” She asked not having been paying attention. She looked over her shoulder at Zabini. He was staring at her again. He nodded at her minutely and pulled out an identical notebook and started writing in it. 

“I said, why the change in notebooks? Honestly, I know your handwriting is neat but that thing’s bloody tiny. I think you're better off with the big red ones.” Ron said pulling potions ingredients out of his bag. 

“It's nothing. I still like the red ones best.” She said offhandedly as she opened the small notebook. It was against her better judgment, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her. 

Inside the notebook, on the first page were the words, “Hang back after class. I have something for you,” Written in green ink. 

Hermione looked over her shoulder again and saw that this time Zabini was not staring at her but rather on his way to the potions cupboard. She tested the book scribbling on a corner of the page. Once she had lifted her quill the scribble moved to right below Zabini’s words and her ink color changed from black to blue. 

She answered back by writing, “What do you have?”

It took ten minutes of distracted potions making for Hermione to see a response appear on the page. Green ink wrote out, “Something to help your friend in the book.”

Hermione spun around wide-eyed but Zabini was not looking at her. He was calmly slicing his nome toenails into slivers. Ron’s elbow knocked into her and she turned back to her potion. She didn't see anything else for the rest of the class. When Ron packed up his things and gave her a look, obviously expecting her to follow him, she shook her head. “You go on. I need at ask Professor Snape a question.” 

Ron rolled his eyes and left with the rest of the class. Everyone filed out of the room until only Hermione and Zabini were left. Snape was the last to leave, giving the two a raised eyebrow as he went through the door behind his desk. 

“Hello, Granger,” Zabini said in a silky voice.

Hermione felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “Hello Zabini, you have something for me?” She asked not letting her nervousness reach her voice.

Zabini pulled a small vial out of his pocket along with a piece of parchment. “This should get Weasley's sister out of the book.”

“How do you know about Ginny?” Hermione asked.

“My mum’s a seer.” Zabini said simply. 

Hermione rolled her eyes thinking of Trelawney. 

Seeing her reaction he crossed his arms over his chest. “A real seer.” Zabini explained. “She said she saw me giving this to you and that I had to explain it to you so that she could see me explaining it and know what to give you.” He said with a smile. 

“What?” Hermione said confused.

“She only knew what to have made and how to write the spell instructions because she had a vision of our conversation, so now I have to say it all so that she can have seen it.”

“That is the most convoluted and ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” Hermione said with a mirthless laugh. 

“Yeah, but if it gets your friend out of the book…” Zabini said with a smile. He walked over to her and handed her the potion and the note.

“Why should I trust you?” Hermione asked as the vial dropped into her hand.

“You shouldn't. Have it tested. Take it to a healer, a potions master, a charms master, whatever you need to do.” Zabini said reassuringly. “I don't even know if it will work, but this conversation needed to happen so I'm making sure it does.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“My mother is a precog. If her visions are not enacted she could lose her sight.” He explained. What he didn't tell her was that she had seen their conversation happening in at least a year from now. Blaise had been warring a prefects pin and he wasn't made a prefect yet. She was trying to change something she had seen that she refused to tell him about, something that had scared her. He had begged her not to try to change anything. He knew how much her sight meant to her. She had made a life for herself as a seer. She had married men she knew would die without heirs to inherit their fortunes so that she could provide for her son. She was a trusted source of information in the last war and would be in the next. Blaise knew she feared a life without her site more than anything in the world. 

Hermione nodded not knowing what to say. She didn't have enough information. She had never met a true seer and didn't know if she even believed in them but she was beginning to learn from the books that Snape had given her that to the dark at least, they were wildly important. They were a cornerstone of dark culture and practice. She could see the sadness in the dark eyes of the boy across from her. She took the vile and the parchment.

"The potion is made of salvaged Dragonheart string, unicorn blood, willingly given, the heart of a toad extracted prior to death, added to a standard revitalizing potion. It won't work unless you add three drops of your friend’s blood." The dark skinned boy explained.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Just where did he expect her to find blood? Ginny's body was gone.

Seeing her expression Blaise held up a hand, "Most families will keep their children's blood, hair, and other items that might be used and potions in their family vaults.”

She nodded. "OK, what do I do with the potion once it's finished?"

"Poured into the pages of the book and recite the smell,” Zabini explained. He pointed to the scroll of parchment in her hand.

 

Hermione unfurled the scroll. It was written in Latin. She was not on used to seeing incantations in Latin in her research but most of their textbooks transliterated the script. "You were making a dangerous assumption that I can read Latin."

A smirk spread across the beautiful boy's face. "The famous bookworm of Gryffindor? Of course, you can read Latin. I've seen you in the library. You haven't pulled a book at grade level once.”

She rolled her eyes. "OK, so I can."

"I need you to read it out loud now." He said with a strange expression on his face.

Hermione looked wary of that. "Why do I have to read it? What is it going to do?"

“Don't be so suspicious. It's not going to do anything. She just needs to hear you say it so she can write it down." He said looking frustrated.

Hermione as worried. What if the parchment was spelled and would activate at the words? But what reason would these leather and have four approaching her with such a spell? She was not important. She did not even have a connection or influence with Harry anymore. What's the worst that could happen? She read aloud, "anima est inclusa, rapto corpore, Vessell creaturam, regenerationem a corpore” 

Nothing happened.

Zabini smiled broadly. "That's it. Best of luck." And with that, the quiet boy left the classroom and a very confused Gryffindor behind.

~.~.~

Instead of leaving the classroom through the door to the whole that the other boy had just exited through, she walked behind the professor's desk and knocked on The door that she knew to lead to either the professor's office or his personal chambers. 

Servers were sitting in his living room reading a potions journal. He had a free hour before his next class and a colleague of his from Germany had asked for notes on an article he was working on. Severus knew that the subject that had been broached in an article he had read about a few years ago, he just had difficulty remembering exactly where he had seen it. 

He was jostled from his reading by a wrapping at his chamber door. He knew for a fact that the headmaster, the only person who ever seemed to visit him in his private Chambers, was out of the castle at the moment. He had informed the potions master that he would be on the hunt for Harry for the rest of the week. 

The headmaster had finished searching the British Isles and had moved on to the continent. He was currently searching known Black residences in Germany.

Severus stood and walked over to the door. Pulling his wand from his sleeve he cast a spell to show him who stood on the other side of the door. He was mildly surprised to see the bushy haired Gryffindor that he had left in the potions classroom with Blaise Zabini only twenty minutes ago. Taking pity on the girl, he opened the door. "Miss Granger."

"Professor, I am sorry to bother you, But I just had a very odd conversation with one of your Slytherins,” she said nervously pulling a clenched fist out of her robe pocket and opening it up to reveal a small vile and a scroll.

"Yes, I was surprised to see the two of you remain behind. What did Zabini have to say?” He plucked the offered vile and scroll out of his student's hand and held the liquid up to the light tilting the glass bottle this way and that. The green liquid appeared inert.

"In second-year Ginny Weasley was trapped in Tom Riddle's diary," Hermione explained. "I don't know how much he knows, But he said that this potion will free her when added to three drops of her blood and used in combination with this incantation."

"And what reason do you have to trust Mr. Zabini?" Severus said the raised eyebrow.

"He said that his mother was a pre-cog and had had a vision of his conversation with me and his presenting me with this vile and scroll.” Hermione looked off into the distance is there trying to remember what had just happened. "He never actually said Ginny's name. I really don't know if he knew what he was giving me.”

"You are quite fortunate. Lady Zabini may be one of the most powerful Seers of her generation. It is an honor to be featured in such a vision." Snake explained. 

"Will you inspect the potion?" Hermione asked, still not sure if she believed in visions.

"I will endeavor to authenticate his claims, but the potion would be at best experimental. I have no way of truly knowing if it will work or not. The only solace I can give you is telling you whether it will   
do more harm or more good." Snape explained. 

"And the incantation?” Hermione asked.

"It is to be said at the same time as the potion is to be used?" Snape said returning her question with one of his own. 

"Yes." She said shortly, nodding her head fervently. She had not made tremendous progress with Harry's situation but this, this could save Ginny!

He unfurled the scroll and read the Latin script. "I'm not sure how this potion is supposed to create a body for her… Only three drops of blood?" He asked skeptically. 

"Yes…” she replied hesitantly. Create a body? Of course, there would have to be a body for to go into… but Voldemort didn't have a ready body to go into, just Ginny… she suddenly got a horrifying mental image of Voldemort traipsing around muggle London in Ginny’s body. 

Severus turned the liquid in the bottle and stared into it. "I would assume that more flesh would be required… Bones, meat, something more substantial." He mused. 

Hermione screwed up her face trying to remember every detail of her conversation with Zabini. "He said the potion was made of unicorns blood, dragons heart strain, and the heart of a toad…" She paused trying to remember every ingredient. 

Snape’s eyes widened. "The unicorn's blood, if taken from a willing beast would do immense good towards… But there is still shockingly little substance…" His eyes narrowed as he trailed off. 

Hermione shifted from foot to foot not knowing what to do. She felt as though he was berating her for her lack of proficiency even though it was not her potion.

Snape’s eyes finally snapped to hers as his fingers curled around the vial. "I will study it. If the ingredients were not so expensive or so rare, I would attempt to recreate it, but willingly given unicorns blood is virtually impossible to obtain." He explained. 

"Thank you, Sir,” She said, beaming.

"Your thanks is unnecessary. I am not so heartless as to not willingly participate in the rescue of a student that was once in my charge. Despite my lack of interest in your friend, his sister was shaping up to be a proficient enough student." Snape explained, offense clearly showing on his face. 

“I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean it like that. I-” she was cut short.

“You may find me less than warm, but it is highly prejudicial to equate Dark manors with heartlessness or evil.” He said in a cruel voice. 

Hermione blushed deep scarlet and took in a substantial breath. “Yes, sir.” 

“Now leave. I have a favor to do for you and the Weasleys.” He said glaring at her.

And without another word, she left. Stepping out of the classroom into the hallway she was startled to immediately encounter the Zabini boy. He was just standing there, vaguely leaning against the stone walls of the dungeon hallway. He was obviously waiting for her. Upon hearing the door close behind her he looked up with shining black eyes and a hopeful expression.

"You waited for me?" She asked a little more than annoyed. She had just somehow offended a man who is shaping up to be her favorite and simultaneously least favorite professor and before she even had time to process it she was assaulted with the presence of yet another Slytherin. 

“You asked Professor Snape to look at the potion?” Zabini asked.

“He is the potions master, isn't he?” She said annoyed at the obviousness of the question. 

“You trust him?” Zabini asked. His eyes looked curious and mirthless. He wasn't mocking her.

“He is a professor at this school,” Hermione said walking past him down the hall.

“He is a Dark Wizard at this school. A known death eater.” Zabini stated. He skipped to catch up with the briskly walking girl. 

“Dumbledore trusts him.” She stated.

“The headmaster is old and trusts there is a little good, a little light, in everyone.” Zabini scoffed.

“There is,” Hermione said shortly in an attempt to give the boy no openings.

“You trust him?” Zabini asked again.

“I trust him, why is that so hard to understand?” Hermione asked.

“Mudbloods don't trust us easily,” Zabini stated. 

“I'm muggle born, not a mud blood,” Hermione said tossing a glare over her shoulder. 

“Apologies, Ko-hane,” Zabini said with a bow at the neck. 

“What?” Hermione asked assuming it was another insult. One that she was as of yet unaware. 

“Look it up,” Zabini said with a smile and turned down a corridor to their right. 

~.~.~

Hermione did just that. She went to the library as soon as classes let out. If the Slytherins were going to hurl insults at her she was going to know what they were saying. It was a show of cowardice to insult your verbal opponent in a language they didn't understand.

She angrily flipped another page. She was having very little luck. She was perhaps too angry to read. 

She wondered how Snape was doing with the potion. At least something decent had happened that day, she thought flipping another page. 

“Is dis seat -aken” a gruff voice asked from above her. 

“What?” Hermione asked looking up. To her surprise, it was Viktor Krum, the quidditch playing, champion of Durmstrang. “No, sorry. No one is sitting with me.”

“V-ould you mind if I join you?” The celebrity asked. 

“No, please. I could use the distraction.” She said sarcastically.

The oversized boy didn't seem to catch on, perhaps sarcasm didn't cross the language barrier. Language… “Say, you're from a dark wizarding family right?” Hermione asked.

Krum looked confused. “Everyone at Durmstrang is from a Dark family.” 

“Right, only I just heard a word I didn't know… think you might be able to translate?” Hermione asked taking a wild leap.

“Not all Dark wizards speak the same language… there are Dark wizards in virtually every country…” Krum said looking bewildered.

“Right, but you’ll try?” Hermione asked persistently. Her eyes were wide and blinking. She knew she was unlikely to find this one seemingly random word and a useful enough translation while she was this angry. It was a longshot, what did she have to lose. After this year she would never see this boy again. Who cared if she came off a little mad? 

He nodded slowly.

"Good, someone called me Ko-hane” she said pronouncing the word slowly and purposefully. "I feel like it is an insult but I'm not exactly sure what it would mean from the contest."

"It is not an insult. However, I -ave no idea v-hy anyone v-ould choose to call you that. It is not a v-ord that is thrown around lightly."

"So, you do know it then?" Her money asked greedily.

"Yes, it means priestess." His face remained as puzzled as ever. "There really was no context?"

Hermione shook her head, her face mirroring his in confusion. Zabini’s mother was a Seer. Perhaps, it was sarcasm? He was saying ‘so, you think you know more than I do’ or something? "I don't understand." She said.

"V-ithout context, neither do I. Is that v-hat had you flipping through your books like you v-ant to hex them?" Krum asked.

 

“Yes." Hermione, he said in defeat. It seemed like the only conversations she had any more were with dark wizards and she was never left feeling particularly clever afterward.

There was a moment of silence.

"I see you in the library a lot," Krum said sheepishly breaking the uncomfortable silence with this, if possible, even more, awkward statement.

Hermione blinked. What did that mean? "Yes…"

"I mean… I am in the library a lot too, my studies are very important to me. I like how much you study. You seem to always be here. It is as though you prefer the library to your own classes." The boys said with a hearty laugh.

Hermione stared at him. What was he talking about? What does it matter that she was in the library a lot?

He answered her unspoken question. "Your necklace. You give yourself away."

Hermione clutched at her time turner that was hanging around her neck. It seemed like she liked her classes less than the library. That was because she was always at the library. Every second she had, and every second she didn't… every second that she made. "How did you know?" It wasn't that she was doing anything wrong per say, but Dumbledore had told her to keep the time turner a secret. The other students were not supposed to know that she was using one and somehow this boy who she had never met before knew her secret.

"We are not so different." He said with a wink pulling out his own time turner from the beneath the high neck of his scarlet robes.

Hermione giggled. She was exhausted. The day had been overwhelming, to say the least. “Well, you got me.” She said with a smile.

“Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.” He said with a wink. “May I ask vat you are always reading? You seem to be researching something long term…” Krum asked.

“I am looking for someone.” She didn't know why she had said it. Maybe she was just too tired to be evasive anymore. 

“Can I help?” Krum asked.

Hermione laughed. “Why would you want to do that?”

Krum looked taken aback. “I like to learn new things and I am so very bored here.”

Hermione laughed again. “Won't you have more than enough with the challenges?”

Krum furrowed his brow. “I don't know. They haven't really told us anything yet, but I don't really know many of the other students chosen for the Durmstrang delegation and I don't know anyone here…”

“You're lonely?” Hermione asked.

Krum nodded.

Hermione burst out in hysterical giggles. “You are a famous quidditch star, a school champion, and decently good looking. How on earth are you lonely? Half the school’s male population is trying to get you to befriend them and all the girls have been staring at you and Diggory like you are… edible or something.”

“I know, but I like the way you study,” Krum said softly. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine, you can help, but I'm not telling you what I'm researching.”

Krum’s confused expression was likely to stick if he stayed around the bushy haired Gryffindor. “Then how-”

“I need a way to reach someone who is behind blood wards.” She said simply.

“You can't,” Krum said simply. 

“That much I know,” Hermione replied. “But there has to be a way.”

“Do you have any of the person’s blood?” Krum asked.

“No,” Hermione replied.

“Can you go to the place where they are?” Krum asked. 

“All I know is that they are on the continent.” Hermione supplied. 

“So you can't attempt to dismantle the wards or create a hole.” Krum thought. 

“I just need to get a letter through,” Hermione explained.

“Why?” Krum asked.

“To see if he is alright… to get a reply.” Hermione said not understanding the question. 

“Right, but to what end? If your friend is behind blood wards they are related to the master of the house. They are home. If they wanted to write to you they would.” Krum explained.

“What if he isn't allowed to? What if he is being held against his will!?” Hermione said raising her voice. 

“Then my question stands, to what end are you writing? He won't get the letter and likely wouldn't have the means to reply if he is being held against his will.” Krum explained.

It was so obvious. 

“Fine. What do you think I should do? I can't exactly go searching for him. I'm in school.” Hermione protested. 

“You shouldn't send him a letter at all. You should send him a portkey.” Krum explained. “Bring him here.”

“That doesn't get past the problem of the blood wards.” Hermione pointed out. 

“Right,” Krum said his mind obviously going down another path already. “Do you have anything personal of his to track him with?”

“I think Dumbledore has his trunk somewhere,” she said confused.

“Anything in there going to have his blood on it?” Krum asked.

Hermione’s eyes opened wide. “His quidditch uniform might! He was always getting hurt in it.” She said. 

"Is that something you can get to?" Krum asked. 

"I don't know. I will have to ask the headmaster. I don't think he is in the castle at the moment.” Hermione stated. 

Krum had a satisfied look on his face. Rather than admit that the boy had actually been helpful mine he crossed her arms over her recently ample bosom and stuck out her lower lip subconsciously.

Victor's eyes widened at the motion. Hermione, had never dated. She had never had any real interest in boys at school because her life up until this point I had always been too exciting, too dangerous, too new, And to magnificent for something as trivial as boys to warrant even a cursory thought. So, it had not occurred to her that crossing her arms over her chest would push her breast together and out and that's a small pouch on her lips would draw attention to them. Even if she had not yet begun thinking about boys with any true regard, Krum had begun thinking about girls a few years ago and this little display was more than enough to peak his already interested interest.

"Well, if you won't be able to retrieve your friend's things anytime soon would you care to go for a walk?” asked Krum. 

"I don't really have time at the moment. I have too much work to do." Hermione said before even really thinking about the answer.

The dark blooded boy erupted in a thick, deep wave of laughter and leaned forward, "I think I may now be among the few for which that excuse will never work." He said with a wink and look down to the place on her chest where her time turner hid beneath her robes. 

Hermione looked down and then uncrossed her arms. Right. Time was no longer a valid excuse. "Fine. Thank you, I would love to go on a walk. Where shall we walk?" She asked. 

"Would you care to walk around the lake? I could show you our ship perhaps or maybe you would prefer to…” Krum was interrupted. 

"I would love to see your ship! Do you know how it works? Obviously the waters of our like you cannot possibly be connected to the waters around your school. The exact location of which seems to be a secret but many theorize it's somewhere off the coast of Norway. Does someone stearate? Or does it simply reach a depth under the water and a portkey like Magic makes it reappear in the waters near your school? Or, does it truly travel through… Something… Some interconnectedness of deep waters?” Hermione rambled as she shoved her personal books and notebooks and quills into her bag and swung it over her shoulder tossing her curly hair and completely missing the mesmerized expression on the older boys face.

The walked out onto the grounds and enjoyed the cool air on their skin. The castle wasn't drafty at all. To the contrary, it was so large and heated by so many fireplaces that it was positively stuffy at times. "It is similar to a Portkey but the actual magic is close to that of apparition. The ship is made from the wood of a sapient oak tree and has its own magical properties. When it reaches The appropriate depth the ship creates a funnel of water in front of itself and then the ship is sort of sucked into the funnel and gets very small. I'm not exactly sure how the spell works but the reverse happens at the destination. We are sort of spit out of the funnel and then it closes back up.” Krum said trying to explain as best as he could. 

Hermione nodded her head. It reminded her of the sort of wormhole images she had seen his father watching on his science fiction programs. 

They walked down the stone pathway that led to the lake in relative silence. "So, you really aren't worried about the challenges? Champions have died in the past."

"No. They will be fairly mild I suspect. The current social climate in the sizes safety and precaution. I doubt they will really be much of a chance of any of us getting to hurt. And even if there is, my school focuses on Marshall magic.”

"Yes, I have to admit, I saw you practicing. You're quite impressive."

"At school I am average. There are some students who can dance through the air like they're on an invisible broom and take down their opponents like the rag dolls. I am far better on a broomstick then I am on the ground. I am a tad… Clumsy."

"Well, you didn't look at." The witch said reassuringly.

"Thank you."

“Still, I hope that you will be careful during the challenges, whatever they might be."

"I'm really not worried. Of course, I hope to win the tournament for the glory of my school, but it is traditional for the first challenges specifics to be leaked to the champions by their respective schools. I should have more than enough time" he winked as he tapped on the concealed a time turner beneath his robes, "to study and practice before I face my first foe.”

Hermione, he looked flabbergasted. "But! That's cheating!"

The boy had a satisfied smirk on his face. "Not if everyone does it. Plus, it's traditional. Part of the tournament.”

She gave him a sideways luck, "All right… If you say so."

"I do. Now, I think you wanted to see my ship?" He said with a smile and a raised eyebrow. they had reached the lake and the enormous ship loomed over them casting them in shadow.

"It's very large. I hadn't walked this close to it before. Quite impressive." Hermione said looking up at it.

"Would you like to come aboard?” Krum asked. 

"Is that allowed?" Hermione, said looking at him skeptically.

"No. But I don't see anyone around." He said still smiling.

"Still. We shouldn't break the rules." She said.

The older boy's face fell. “That's all right. Another time." He said. “Would you like to go into the village?”

She smiled. "Now, we definitely are not allowed to go into the village unless it is a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“On the next Hogsmeade weekend then?" He asked smiling again.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" To which asked finally putting two into together.

"I thought that much was obvious." And with that, he leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning and walking to the ship. 

Hermione’s cheek burned red all over the way back to Gryffindor tower. 

~.~.~

Remus Lupin was starving. Literally starving. He hadn't eaten in two days. He had saved as much of his salary from Hogwarts as he could, but it hadn't lasted very long. Dumbledore had sacked him at the end of last term. Apparently, someone on the board of governors had found out from a friend at the regulation and control of magical creatures department that there was a dark creature teaching DADA at Hogwarts. It was so unfair, he had been perfect. He drank his potion every moon night and curled up on his bed to wait his transformation out, yet somehow he had still been found out. Maybe the job really was cursed like they said. Fair or not, he was down to his last few galleons, living in a tent in a British wolf pack's territory, and completely unable to find work.

The pack was friendly, but they were all in the same boat, poor, hungry, and unemployable. He was heating a rabbit he had caught in the woods over a fire when he saw an owl overhead. It was a simple brown barn owl, nothing fancy. Remus dismissed it thinking that it was going to one of the other wolves. No one had written him in weeks. He didn't have many friends left.

He was startled when the bird landed on his shoulder. With a soft 'Whooo' it's reached out its leg. Remus untied a small scroll with vaguely familiar handwriting. He read it three times before writing back a simple 'See you soon', and sending the bird back to his old friend. Remus took in a deep breath of the crisp fall air through his nostrils. So Padfoot was finally ready to face him?

~.~.~

Remus was sitting on a park bench in the Englischer Garten. Sirius appreciated the symbol. Remus was in a tattered, mustered colored, tweed suit. Sirius gave a soft bark and bounded towards the bench. He slowed down as he got closer to the bench. He walked over to the bench very slowly, watching Remus for a reaction. Remus looked hesitant, but he didn't move from his spot on the bench. Sirius sat in front of the werewolf and placed his head on Remus' knees. Remus let out a breath and rolled his eyes. He placed his hand on Sirius' head and scratched him behind the ears. "Someone had been a very bad boy, hasn't he?" He whispered.

Sirius gave him literal puppy dog eyes and whined a little.

"How did you expect this to work? Am I just supposed to ask you questions and infer the answers? You said you could explain everything. I don't see you saying much at all in this form." Remus said with a small frown.

Sirius nodded and panted a bit, making him appear to smile.

"You broke out of prison and you kidnapped my friend's son, your best friend's son!" Remus said in a harsh whisper.

Sirius gave a small bark in protest.

"Ok, so yeah - obviously you were in prison for something you didn't do, but you still broke out... And then you DID kill Peter! . . . He was apparently a death eater and everyone is assuming that he was really the one to really betrayed Lily and James..."

Sirius gave a happy bark and wagged his tail.

"Right...but you still kidnapped Harry." Remus reaffirmed.

Sirius whined and licked Remus' hand.

"Enough of this, can we go somewhere and talk like humans?" Remus pleaded.

Sirius nodded and trotted off towards a clump of bushes. A few moments later he reemerged in his human form. He had transfigured his clothes into something resembling muggle clothing. He walked over towards Remus and hesitated before rushing forward and lifting the smaller man up into a great hug. "Remus." He said gruffly.

Remus wanted to melt. There it was, the voice he had been waiting to hear for over a decade. It wasn't as graveled and broken as he thought it might be after years in prison. It was the same deep, husky, devilishly sexy voice he had had in their teenage years. The voice that haunted his dreams. The voice he could still here in his mind. His wolf told him to scoop The other man up in his arms and never let him go but his mind with stronger. He could not trust Sirius. There were too many questions left unanswered. It would take an inordinate amount of explaining to erase the monument us levels of suspicion trepidation Remus felt towards the man in front of him. "It's good to see you, my old friend." Remus returned stiffly.

Seeing his face again Remus was bombarded with flashes of a teenage Sirius Black his long unkempt hair cascading over his shoulders onto the back of his weatherworn leather jacket. His toned legs peeking through the holes of his ripped up muggle bluejeans. His dazzlingly white teeth and a smile that could make Remus weak at the knees. He was so lost in his memories that he found it hard to concentrate on the words coming out of the other man's lips just inches away from his year. "Come back to my manor with me, I really can explain everything." Sirius pleaded into the shorter man's hair.

Remus nodded silently. He couldn't speak. He wanted to cry. It's been so long. He knew that moment that he had been waiting for years for this. If Black had never returned to him he would have continued waiting forever, He would have died waiting. 

Remus felt a pull at his navel and held on tight to the other man as Sirius apparated them away.

They reappeared just outside Prague in Black Manor. Remus pushed away from his former friend. His wolf begged for him to return to Sirius’s arms but his mind won out as it always did. “Where are we?” Remus asked.

“My parent’s home on the continent. We will be safe here. No one will see us, hear us, or interrupt us.” Sirius said obviously miss reading the look on Remus’s face as hesitation towards his surroundings rather than towards a man he couldn't trust himself around. 

Remus fidgeted nervously. He looked around for somewhere to sit. They were in a grand entry way with an elaborate open staircase and marble floors. "You wanted to talk? To explain?" Remus asked kneading to flesh his hand.

Sirius’s eyes lit up and a broad smile spread across his face. Remus could see in the expression so many memories of the happiest time in his life, Hogwarts with Sirius and James had been a dream come true. He had been bitten only a few years before school and his world had changed from that of a happy half blood light wizard playing with his loving parents and enjoying the company of the other children in his Little London suburb to deafening pain, hideous transformations, and a relationship with his father that became strained at best. Even as a child he knew that his father's love for him had changed. The unconditional love that fathers showed their sons was not the shown to Remus. His father's love was very much conditional. His father hated monsters. He knew that it wasn't just his father, he terrified his mother. She was a Muggle and the horrific change in her son was too much for her. 

Remus had spent much of the summer alone, he was with his own kind in the pack but they had not truly accepted him. He could feel their resentment as easily as he could feel his father’s. They had not wanted him there. He did not offer them anything in exchange for their kindness and generosity. He was a burden. In his time alone with the pack, he was gifted with space to think. He found himself reflecting on his past and his current predicament. Even now he was distracted from what Sirius was babbling on about by his own thoughts. "– We can just sit, I can explain everything, just come with me, Remus.”

Remus nodded his head slowly and Black picked up the hand that had been hanging loosely by the wolf’s side. The skin on skin contact was amazing. When they were teenagers Sirius very rarely showed such levels of affection. Occasionally he would bestow a hug on the slightly smaller boy after a triumphant Quidditch match, but handholding was definitely not the pastime of teenage boys. Remus looked down at his own hand clasped tightly around Blacks. He followed the arm up and looked into his friend's face and saw his pleading eyes. He nodded again and found himself led away into a small parlor. He was grateful. His father had been a ministry worker and they had not been fabulously wealthy like the Blacks or the Potters. 

"Have a seat." Sirius said. 

Remus saw Black gesture to an armchair and realized that he had been standing, staring around the room perhaps a moment too long. "Thank you,” he said and took the offered chair. It was vastly more comfortable than it had looked. The furnishings in the room were stuffy and overly formal for his taste. But, That was Lady Black from everything he had been told growing up.

"Where do you want me to start?” Sirius asked. Remus was comforted to see that he looked as lost and confused as he himself felt.

"Why not at the beginning?" Remus said with a raised eyebrow.

"I think that might be a longer story than you are willing to hear today." Sirius said running his fingers through his hair as he often did when he was nervous.

"I don't think I'm going to understand unless I hear everything. Besides, where else do I have to go?" Remus said with a sad smile that was becoming his default expression.

"Then I want to start by saying that I was always your friend. I was always your friend and I always will be. Your friendship means the world to me. You, James, Lily… You have to remember that all of that was real.” Sirius said staring deeply and searchingly into amber eyes.

Remus didn't know if he wanted to contradict that or to believe it, he wanted so desperately for it to be true. He wanted Sirius to be the boy that he had known at Hogwarts. He wanted their time together to have been real and as meaningful to him as it was to Remus himself. He wanted to, but he didn't know if he could let himself believe that. He nodded not knowing what to say.

Sirius let out a deep breath. "OK… OK… I am going to have to tell you a few things first that you are not going to want to hear but you have to hear me out. You have to hear the whole story." When he saw Remus give another small nod he continued “ I knew when I was very young, about five or six I think, anyways I was little.” Sirius trailed off and looked around the room. 

It was clear to Remus that he had no idea how to put into words what he was trying to say. "It might help if you just say what you're trying to say rather than trying to put it in a neat little package for me," Remus said crossing his arms over his chest.

Sirius nodded. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He clapped his hands down on his knees twice rhythmically and blew a second breath out nervously. "I come from a dark house. I am a dark wizard. It's not something I have any control over. It's the way I was born. Not that I'm saying I'm ashamed of it, I just wasn't really allowed to tell anyone… I guess until now. But you all knew… Well about my parents. But then I moved in with James… And all of you were light and you sort of assumed… I mean that was my plan…” He rambled.

Remus smiled. "You are from a dark wizarding house. I know.”

Sirius shook his head. “Yes, but I never stopped being dark. It's not something you can stop. It's who I am, it's what I am.”

Remus gave him a confused expression. "… And that's it? That's your excuse for blowing up a street full of people and murdering Peter? That's your excuse for secretly becoming a death eater and betraying Lily and James? That is your excuse for kidnapping Harry?"

Sirius hung his head back. This wasn't going to be easy. "I never blew up the street full of people, that was Peter. I didn't betray Lily and James, that was Peter.… I did kidnap Harry… But I had a very good reason!”

Remus raised an eyebrow his arms still folded over his chest in a show of defiance and disbelief.

"OK, I'll start at the very very beginning. My mother is a Blood Seer.” Remus’s second eyebrow rose in a look of surprise. 

Remus crossed his legs at the knees and sat back for a long story. 

“She had visions of our family, but most of them focused on me and my son.” Sirius explained.

Remus's heart fluttered. They were going to have a pup!? Then sanity hit and his face set into a deep frown. It was more likely that Sirius was referring to an illegitimate child that he had already had with one of his many many conquests. Remus said nothing.

Sirius didn't know how to read the changing expressions on Remus’s face so he continued. “She told me when I was very little that I would meet and befriend all of you, that I would eventually betray you in one way or another, but that I didn't have a choice.”

“You betrayed Lily and James. Not me.” Remus pointed out.

“I think I can sadly say that sending Snape to the shack was a betrayal,” Sirius said with a sad grin. 

“Yes. It really was. But it wasn't a master plan kind of thing, was it? There couldn't have possibly been a reason for that.” Remus retorted.

“No, I was just stupid and an arse,” Sirius said with a chuckle. 

“So why did you betray us if you knew it was coming?” Remus asked.

“She didn't tell me everything. She didn't know the small details, or at least not all at once. Her visions were clear, they just were out of order and context. She had to guess how they would all come together.” Sirius explained. 

“And she told a subject of her visions what she saw? How do you tell a child that sort of thing?” Remus asked bewildered. 

“Annoyingly slowly and with lots of compulsion charms,” Sirius said with a fond smile. 

Remus realized how much sense that made. Sirius had always been a bit off. Most of the Blacks were but Sirius was a different kind of crazy. If his mind was trapped in a web of compulsion charms then that might explain a lot of his odd behavior.

“Before I left for school my first year, she said that I would meet a boy that could be my twin and a girl with fire for hair. Then on the train, I met Lily and James.” Sirius smiled fondly. It was obviously a happy memory that he enjoyed returning to. “When I came home for winter break she said that I would need to seek you out, but she didn't know your name yet. She said you would be quiet and much smarter than anyone else in class but you would also be very sad. She said that you needed me to make you happy. I was so happy when I got you to laugh the first time.” Sirius reflected.

Remus had had a very difficult time adjusting to school as a child of eleven with a terrible secret. When he had met Sirius everything had seemed so much brighter, more manageable. It made his betrayals so much worse. “So your mother told you to meet us, so what? What has that got to do with anything?” Remus asked. 

“Ok, there is only so much I can say. My mum put compulsion charms on a lot of it. So, I have to talk around it. She said that everyone had a purpose in this world, even if it was just to die at the right time. I was lucky because where most people didn't know their reason for being on earth, I always would. It was Harry. Everything I did was for him, to get us to this point. I had to befriend all of you because I had to get close enough to Lilly to make Harry. I'm Harry’s father by blood.”

Remus was shocked. He had not been expecting that. “What?!”

Sirius sighed heavily. “That was how I betrayed Lily and James. Right before their wedding Lily and I went out for a night and got sloshed. You remember how disastrous the hens night Alice threw was? She wanted something a bit more rockus. So, I took her to some muggle bars in London and when we were both a bit sloshed… We never told James. It was just one night and there was less than nothing romantic between us. She just didn't want James to have been the only bloke she had ever shagged.”

Remus’s heart broke. He knew that Sirius had slept around in school. They boy wouldn't shut up about it in school, but Lily? He wanted to cry. She had been one of his best friends. Sirius had never noticed him in school but he had never shown a particular interest in Lily either. Remus had assumed that Sirius saw him as a friend and hadn't wanted to... “So, that's how you betrayed James but-” Remus asked.

“It's also how I betrayed Lily. See, I knew it was going to happen. I had known for years. I cried about it when Lily finally agreed to go out with Jamie. He was my best mate and I didn't want to hurt them.”

“But if she wanted to-” Remus started.

“But I knew. I planned it. I even put an arousal and a conception potion in her very first drink to make sure.”

“That's horrible! How could you! That’s - that’s rape!” Remus shouted.

Sirius buried his head in his knees. “I know! Don't you think I know that! I hate it. I seriously contemplated running away at that point, just getting on my broom and flying to India or something so I couldn't hurt you guys anymore. But I didn't have a choice by that point. Harry was growing inside her whether she knew it or not and I had to be there to get him.”

Remus looked uncomfortable. This was not a compelling argument for trusting Black again. It was a great argument for getting the hell away from him. 

Sirius continued. “It doesn't get much better. After that, I went to their wedding. I watched Harry as a baby and then a little kid. It was so hard but I never told them he was mine. I don't think Lily ever really knew for sure. By then the war was really heating up. James and I were constantly fighting side by side. It became easier to lock the truth of that night away in my mind with time. By then I was betraying Jamie in a new way. I was actively spying for the Dark Lord.”

Remus closed his eyes not wanting to see the expression on his friends face when he asked the question he had to ask. "When did it start? When did you start reporting to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

Sirius fidgeted in his chair. “ The summer before our seventh year."

Remus opened his eyes wide in shock. He had been expecting a much later date. "When we were still in school?! We were children!"

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair. He had to remind himself that he was not admitting to something horrible. He was admitting to something that was a core element of who he was. If he had not reported to the dark Lord he would have been betraying not only his family but his blood and his magic. "In fact, it started much earlier than that, but I only met him for the first time that summer.”

Remiss was confused. "What do you mean?"

Serious gave him a lopsided smile. "I was a spy ever since the first day I stepped onto the platform at 9 3/4. I always reported back to my mother about what I was doing and my friends. She was a loyal supporter of the Dark Lord. They had known each other in school. He, of course, knew a little less than I did and far less than my mother did about my role and Harry’s. I believe at the beginning all he knew was that my mother had pledged me to spy for the Dark since childhood and that I was positioning myself to infiltrate Dumbledore's ranks and the ministry simultaneously as an Auror.”

Remus gulped. It sounded so very sinister when put it like that. "But you only started reporting directly to him the summer before seventh year?”

Sirius nodded.

“What could you possibly have had to tell him that was so important you had to speak to him directly?” Remus asked going over that summer in his mind. 

"That was the summer that the Order of the Phoenix was formed,” Sirius explained. “ I overheard Dumbledore speaking to the Potter's while I was staying with James over the summer.”

"And you continued to feed him information even after we were initiated the next year,” Remus said with a raised eyebrow.

"But I never betrayed you. I never told the Dark Lord anything that could hurt any of you. And I had no idea that Peter had switched sides. Why would he? He was a light wizard from a light family the had been light for generations. He had absolutely no reason to join our cause. The power-hungry little rat just saw a way to get back at the world for not making him clever enough, brave enough, powerful enough.”

“And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named offered it to him.” Remus mused. Peter had always been less than happy with his role in their little group. James had been the charismatic leader, the sports hero. Black had been the devilishly sexy rebel. He had been the clever one. Lily was the Femme-Fatale. Peter had simply been the fat slow bloke.

“A truly light spy would have been too valuable to pass up,” Sirius said with sad eyes. 

“How many spies did he have?” Remus asked.

“I don't know. It was a war. We were only told what we needed to know as we needed to know it.” Sirius explained.

“And now?” Remus asked.

“A few,” Sirius said with a grin. 

Sirius shook his head up and down slowly. “I want to be very clear that I never gave the Dark Lord anything that directly threatened any of you. I never told him where Lily and James were hiding. I never used our friendship against you guys.” Sirius was starting to feel fatigue, but Remus showed no signs of letting up on his investigation.

"What it all keeps coming back around to, is how you could possibly have not betrayed the Potters if you were simultaneously spying against them." Remus reiterated, sipping at his cup of tea.

"You see, that is a core misconception in your argument," Sirius said in a sarcastic voice, mimicking Remus. "Look, it is like I said, I never actually did or said anything to betray you, Lily, James, or Peter to the Dark. I was an Auror! I had plenty of information to give the Dark Lord from that alone. The four of you had become my family. Lily and Harry more literally… I guess, but all the same, you were my family. You are my family. I would never betray you." Sirius stood up and started pacing around the room. Sitting for long periods of time discussing the same information over and over and over and over again made him anxious. He needed to move around. "It was all about compartmentalizing my priorities. I am a dark wizard. I have very specific goals and tasks assigned to me to further our cause. AND I am your friend, and James' friend, and Lilly's friend. In a battle or on a mission for the Order, I never killed anyone, Light or Dark. I always protected James and Lily. How do you think they survived so often? I frequently knew the plans for the very battles we were fighting! How do you think we survived direct attacks by the Dark Lord himself three times together?!"

"And yet they did die, while under a Fidelius Charm." Remus pointed out calmly. He sipped at his tea.

Sirius threw his hands in the air in frustration, "How can you still accuse me of betraying them when you have proof that Peter betrayed them?!" Remus gave him a look. Sirius rolled his eyes, they had been over this! "And for the last time, I didn't know about Peter! I would've killed the slimy little rat earlier if I had... I thought I was protecting them from my role as a spy by asking them to choose someone else to be their secret keeper.… To be honest, I thought you might be dark. Another dark spy hiding in the Light. You ARE a Dark Creature, your blood and magic are just like mine."

"We are not talking about my alignment, we are talking about yours," Remus said in an ever calm quiet voice.

"Yes, we have been talking about my alignment for hours," Sirius said in a deadpan. He rubbed his face and then ran his hands through his hair.

"Yes, we have. And we will continue to because I still can't quite understand why you would choose to follow that madman." Remus said.

"I get it, by the end of the war he was making decisions that were arguably insane. He was killing recklessly, he was acting more like a terrorist then a leader of the righteous rebellion. I get it." Sirius said practically vibrating with frustration. "The Dark doesn't choose to follow him, he is our Dark Lord, he is a warlord in a time of great need for rebellion. He started off brilliant. My mother knew him in school. He was amazing, the most intelligent, charismatic wizard she had ever met. Something just… changed in him during the war." He tried to explain, calming himself. "He's not like that now, he's not insane. He's like he used to be, Remus, he's exactly like he used to be. If I didn't know that you would refuse, I'd say you should meet him. You'd love him. He's brilliant, analytical, amazing mind for strategy. He's passionate about our cause. He fervently believes in the rights of dark creatures."

"I'll meet him," Remus said quietly.

Sirius didn't hear him as he continued "He has a plan fo-" He spun on his heels mid-rant and stared wide eyed at Remus. "You will?"

Remus nodded.

Serious bounded over to his long-lost friend and swept him up into his second bearhug of the day. "Thank you!"

~.~.~

Remus had been sitting in a quiet parlor room for over three hours. Occasionally house elves would come and make sure that he was doing alright. They would bring him trays of food or a new drink. They informed him that he was welcome to peruse the books on the numerous shelves that lined the room. He was waiting for the Dark Lord to finish up with the meeting he was having with another visitor. He was reading a book of dark fairy tales.

He was reading a story about a man whose father's last wish was for him to never cross the sea. When a servant of the man's father tells him that a great inheritance was waiting for him across the sea, he followed the servant to an island inhabited by a wide variety of dark creatures. The ship they traveled to the island on was damaged beyond repair in a storm and the man and his father's servant were marooned. He was interested to see how the man's fate played out, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Hmm?" Remus made a noncommittal sound granting the unknown knocker entrance into the room.

A death eater that Remus didn't recognize, that looked to be in his mid-20s, stepped through the door. "Mr. Lupin?"

"Hmm?" Remus flipped a page, trying to skim as much as he could before he was inevitably taken from the room where he would no longer have access to the story. He lacked the funds to be able to purchase such a book if he could even track it down. It looked very very old. He really wanted to know how the story ended.

"Mr. Lupin, the Dark Lord is ready for you now. Please follow me." The young death eater instructed.

Remus sighed and closed his book. He placed it down on the end table next to the leather sofa he had been sitting on. He took one last sip of his lemonade and then, placing the glass down, he stood and walked out the door, death eater in toe.

Remus had no idea where precisely he was. He knew he was in a large manor, he knew that he had gone through a series of portkeys and floos to get there. He acknowledged that he was in a great deal of danger, though the setting was comfortable and the people respectful and welcoming. These were still some of the most ruthless revolutionaries Europe had seen in decades.

They seemed to walk down a maze of hallways until they finally stopped in front of large walnut double doors. "Enter," came a youthful, yet masculine, voice from beyond the door.  
With a smile and encouraging nod from the unnamed death eater, Remus pushed the door open. He stepped into a masculine office with beautiful marbled hardwood floors and a large walnut desk in the center of the room with two upholstered chairs in front of it and a leather wingback chair behind it. Sitting in the high-backed chair was a devilishly handsome boy that looked to be about 17 years old. As Remus surveyed the Dark Lord, he himself was being assessed. The dark-haired boy sat with his legs crossed and his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands tented in front of his face.

The Dark Lord spoke first, "Sirius has told me much about you, Severus, as well, though I sense a childhood rivalry there might have colored his testimony."

Remus made no move to progress into the space nor sit in the chairs. He remained standing, taking a mental inventory of the room, the exits, and the teen in front of him.  
Tom untented his fingers and gestured for the older man to take a seat, "Won't you have a seat Mr. Lupin?"

Remus walked forward and hesitantly pulled out the upholstered chair and sat down. His eyes never left the young man in front of him. "Thank you."

The Dark Lord appeared to think for a moment before saying, "You are a light half-blood wizard and the only son of Lyall and Hope Lupin. You were afflicted with lycanthropy during your childhood by Fenrir Greyback who aimed the attack at you in retaliation for a comment your father made while working for the British Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. A rather ironic punishment."

Remus raised an eyebrow but made no move to respond.

When he remained silent, Tom continued, "You attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and were sorted into Gryffindor house, where you befriended our mutual friend, Lord Black. You lived off the wealth of your friends, the Potters, after graduation as you were unable to find gainful employment due to you...condition... You fought alongside Lord Black in the first war, though you didn't know what side he truly fought for. Then you lived in poverty and squalor in Wizarding Edinburgh until after the Potters died at the end of the first war. That was until Albus Dumbledore plucked you out of you hovel and brought you to Hogwarts to teach in a cursed position as a Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts last year. You were forced to resign when several of your students figured out what you are. You have been living in an impoverished wolf pack for the past few months, slowly bleeding your vault dry."

"Thank you for so succinctly summing up my life," Remus said in a deadpan. He wasn't exactly surprised that the all-powerful Dark Lord had done his research. He was, however, surprised that he had bothered to list out the facts. What was the point? To show power and his reach? He had killed most of his friends! Remus was well aware of his power!  
"My point, Mr. Lupin, is that you were born to a light wizard who actively persecuted your race. You are a dark creature, with dark magic in your core and dark blood pumping through your veins. You are a victim of Light oppression, and yet… You fought for the Light in the last war. My question is why?" The young Dark Lord said searching for the answer on the ex-professor's face.

Remus was a little taken-a-back, he had expected to be swayed by promises of wealth and power. He had not expected the Dark Lord to question the reason behind his alignment. He took a deep breath and let it out. It was now or never. There was no going back at this point. But… then again, there wasn't much to go back to. He might as well put his cards on the table. It wasn't like the Light had done anything for him in the past decade... And if this was what Sirius wanted..."I was from a Light family and fought alongside my Light friends."  
"-and now you are looking to..." The Dark Lord said holding out his hand indicating that Remus should finish the sentence.

"I am looking to continue fighting alongside my friend," Remus said resolutely.

~.~.~

There sat Remus Lupin in a tailored tweed suit reading, ironically, another book of fairytales. "Why, if it isn't Harry Potter," Remus said with a joyful smile, snapping his book shut.

Harry returned the smile warmly, "It is Harold Black now."

"Too right it is." The former professor said putting down his book "and I wouldn't be willing to put down that story for the second time for just about anyone else." He said with a chuckle "I have been looking forward to reading the ending of that story for months. I was quite pleasantly surprised to see the Dark Lord still had it sitting out on the coffee table, almost as if it was waiting for me." His amber eyes sparkled looking at the teenage leader of their rebel movement.

"I assure you no thought was put into the matter, I am merely a guest in Lord Malfoy's house," Tom said. He had had enough twinkling eyes of light wizards at Hogwarts suffering under the tutelage of a certain transfiguration professor.

"Well, then I will have to wrestle up a house elf before I leave to ask them to leave it out for me again next time. The most interesting story about a man whose father dies and leaves him a great inheritance across the sea…" Remus said.

"I'm sure you will have plenty of time to tell your story on your mission, but for now, can we at least discuss what the mission is?" Tom said in a voice that displayed the full range of his irritation.

"Right, right. So, what is it you have brought me here to do?" The professor asked.

"I have brought you here so that you might finally be useful to our cause," Tom said trying with much difficulty to push down his irritation. Some people were simply too bubbly. He had over the past month suffered through two dinners where Lupin and Black were both in attendance. The two seemed to feed off one another, getting progressively more jovial, boisterous, and insufferable as they went. Dinners with his death eaters were an important way to debrief after missions and assess progress, but he wished sometimes that he would only have to have these dinners with Lucius or maybe Severus. He wasn't one for humor or frivolity.

Tom sighed, "I am sending you to Albania, there is a Wolfpack there that is in need of our help, and will likely return the favor come wartime."

"Standard mission, food, clothing, wands?" Remus asked. The Dark Lord had an initiative that the senior death eaters were attempting to fulfill. He was reaching out to naturally aligned dark creatures, dark wizard, and communities that had been neglected or wronged in the last war. The idea was that through aid and an offer of friendship, these creatures and communities would be brought into the fold adding bodies to the Dark's growing army. Once they reached a critical mass of support, able-bodied soldiers, and wealth, they would be in a strong position to attack various ministries of magic without an undue death toll.

"Precisely. You and Harry will offer the pack the standard package, if they immediately accept our friendship, increase the donation if they do not, stay until they do. This is a mission of goodwill, but it also has the aim of gaining alliances. If you are successful with this pack, this will likely be your standing mission for all packs throughout Europe." The Dark Lord instructed.

Remus looked skeptical, "Infiltrating and gaining the trust of a wolf pack is not an easy task, and not something accomplished quickly."

"You are one of them, I am sure you are capable of convincing them." He said dismissively. The Dark Lord handed Remus a scroll of parchment. Remus raised an eyebrow and unfurled the scroll. Wrapped up inside it was a copper ring. "A portkey," Tom said simply. Scrolled across the parchment were the names and characteristics of known pack members. "Please show Harry the store rooms in the dungeons and be on your way, I have much to do today." He said dismissing them.

The two stood and left the room and immediately began chattering. Harry knew that Sirius had reached out to Remus a few months ago, but it was great to see him again. Professor Lupin was his all time favorite teacher. It was good to have him back. "Oh, I almost forgot, I have something for you." Harry saw the professor pull out what he recognized as a bottomless pouch. He untied the drawstring and reached inside. He pulled out first a shimmering silk cloak.

"My invisibility cloak!" Harry exclaimed.  
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

A royal German elf named Gershon was cooking in the kitchen of his modest home in the Elven village of Kitover. He was chopping vegetables for a lovely salad. It was the midday meal, and he had just returned home from his work in the Elven archives. He was a lonely, solitary fellow, but he gained great satisfaction from his work maintaining and preserving the history of his people.

He was chopping into a long carrot when he was struck by a vision. He dropped the knife in his hand. It fell to the floor and stuck into the wood on point, just barely missing his foot. His eyes turned milky white and after a moment his legs gave out from under him. He fell to the floor with the strength of the vision overwhelming his body. He was not accustomed to visions. His mother had had them. He had not had a vision since he was a small boy. Then it had only been a simple precognition of an event later that year, the death of his father.

This vision was unlike the one he had had as a child and unlike any vision he had ever heard an accounting of. He was not seeing events, not hearing or speaking a riddle of words, but moving through white, mist filled chambers. He was moving towards a great golden light. If he had been conscious enough of himself, he would've found it ironic that on this day, of all days, on the Elven holiday celebrating the birth of the world, he should have a vision like this one.

As he moved through the mist he moved towards great gates of shimmering light, not made of gold or iron but made of light. Shimmering beautiful light held together by nothing at all, yet standing as a powerful barrier between one chamber and another. As the gates opened, he would enter the next chamber of mist. He knew he was compelled to move towards the golden light, but he did not know why, he did not understand the space. He had never read about such an ethereal space. The elves had no concept of an afterlife, no concept of ethereal eternity. They did not worship magic as wizards did. Prophecy was extremely rare to his people.

When he felt as though he had been moving through chambers for hours or days, he reached one filled with golden light. The light shown seemingly from nowhere but filled the space to a blinding brightness. He heard a voice speaking to him, calling him by name. "Gershon, The master comes."

Gershon was confused. Master? Elves did not have masters. They had clans, Chiefs, they did not have masters. "Master? What master comes?"

"A leader. A master of a great army. The elves of your clan will serve him."

Gershon remained confused. An army? The elves rarely participated in wars. Was there to be a war amongst the elves? "What war? How will we know the master when he comes?"

"He will come to you with a face that is not his own, you will know him by a title given to him by his enemy, he will seek your help, he will ask you for a humble favor. He will ask you."

The voice only answered one of his questions. "What war are we fighting in? A war amongst elves? Or a war for another?"

"A war of salvation, a war for the world."

Suddenly, the golden missed was gone, and the elf found himself very much awake lying on his back on the floor of his kitchen. He must have hit his head rather hard. It was throbbing. He could feel his blood rushing to it pounding through his temples. He stared up at the ceiling and wondered if he had imagined the whole thing. What a strange dream, he thought to himself. If it had been more than a dream… He hoped it was a dream. He was not a warrior. He did not want a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! It really means a lot to me. Let me know what you think about Hermione and Krum. I am interested to see how people react to them. It's a little too cannon for me, but it needs to be done. Also, I would love to hear people's theories about Zabini and his mother.


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